THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


v-**- 


GLIMPSES 


THE     SPIRIT-LAND 


ADDRESSES,  SONNETS,  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 


SAMUEL  H.  L 


AMUEL  fi,  LLOYD. 


PRINTED  FOR  PRIVATE  DISTRIBUTION. 


NEW- YORK. : 

JOHN  A.  GRAY  &  GREEN,  PRINTERS,  16  &  18  JACOB  STREET. 
1867. 


PS 


NDEX. 


GLIMPSES  OF  THE  SPIRIT-LAND.  PAGE 

No.  I.— The  Threshold,  9 

No.  II. — Re-Union,     ---------          n 

No.  III. — Realities,        ---------12 

No.  IV. — Visions,         ...-.----          13 

No.  V.— The  Dreamer, 14 

No.  VI.— Change,        ...  •        15 

No.  VII.— The  Spirit's  Welcome,  -  16 

No.  VIII. — Heavenly  Joy, -17 

No.  IX.— Land  of  Bliss,         -----  -      18 

Lines  to  Rev.  Frederic  T.  Gray,  on  his  Departure  for  the  Atlantic 

States,       -----------          20 

Faith,  Hope,  and  Charity,  --------      2I 

The  Oak  and  Vine,          ---------          22 

To  Some  Weeds  that  are  Growing  on  the  Eaves  of  a  House  opposite 

my  Window,      ----------          23 

Distrustfulness,    -----------24 

To  Little  Lizzie, 24 

To  Jenny  Lind,   -----------     25 

A  Blessing  for  the  Children,    --------          26 

Sonnet, .-  ---27 


759807 


INDEX. 


A  TABLEAU. 
Morning,   ------------      27 

Noon,    ------------          27 

Evening,  ..........        _...28 

Night, 29 

SONNETS. 

I.— The  Welcome, ' 29 

II.— The  Question, 3° 

III.— The  Wish, 31 

IV.— The  Apology, 31 

V.— Glimpses, 32 

VI.— The  Shrine, 33 

VII.— Repose, 33 

VIII.— Absence,          -  34 

IX. — Love  Universal,      ---------35 

X.— The  Farewell, 35 

XI. — Explanation,  ----------      3$ 

A  Fireman's  Address,      ---------          37 

Temperance  Address,          ---------      42 

The  Oak  and  Vine, 5° 

Reverie, 52 

In  a  Valley  Sweet  and  Lowly,         -------          53 

Isabel, 54 

The  Heart  and  its  Angel, 5<> 

Jenny  Lind,         ---         --------57 

What  Hattie  may  be  supposed  to  Say  on  the  Eve  of  her  Marriage  I        58 
Lines,  ------------39 

The  Silver  Lining,  -        -  ...----          60 

A  Factory  Village  at  Night,        -  -        -      63 

Spring  and  Childhood,       -----'-        -        -        -        64 

My  Childhood's  Home, &5 


INDEX.  7 

PAGE 

The  Poet, 68 

God  Speed  the  Plow  ! 69 

To  Dora,  -------....         ^l 

Love  vs.  Wealth,         ..........      ^2 

Aspirations,      -----------          73 

The  Cross,  ------------73 

All  are  Here,    -----------          74 

Epitaph,      --------        ..--75 

Lines,        ...  ..-_.-..          75 

Lebanon  Springs,         ---------        -      78 

The  Angel  Hand, 79 

The  Inner  Mansion,    ----------80 

A  Paradox,       -----------          82 

A  Tribute  to  the  Memory  of  my  Friend  Sydney  Southworth,  who 

died  at  Sea  on  board  the  Brig  Gulnare,  bound  to  California,  -          83 

My  Spirit  Bride, 85 

To  Wachusett.    (In  Winter,) 87 

Rosalie, 88 

Musings,          -----------          go 

Lines,          --------        ---.Q2 

Willie  to  his  Bird, 94 

The  Buttercup, ..--96 

Love  and  Wedlock,         ---------          97 

My  Valentine,     -----------      98 

A  Song,    ------------          99 

The  Gold  Diggers,      ----------      og 

To  Wachusett, -----101 

Lines,  ------  .....     IO3 

The  Bird's  Nest, 104 

A  Rainy  Night,  -      ^-        .......        -        .    106 

Be  Patient, 106 


INDEX. 


Lines  to  my  Little  Brothers,        -..--..-107 

Good  Night, 108 

Beneath  the  Cloud, -----109 

Above  the  Clouds,   ----------no 

My  Brother,         .--......--no 

The  Search, 112 

Art  and  Toil, ------113 

The  Inner  Life,        ...-------117 

Hymn,         -        -        -        -        -        -        -  .     -        -        -        -        -118 

Temperance  Hymn,         ---------        ug 

Baptismal  Hymn,        ----------    120 

Sunday-School  Hymn,    ---------        121 

Hymns,  written  for  and  sung  at  the  funeral  of  Rev.  William  H. 

Kinsley,  September  gth,  1851,      ----'--     122,  123 

Hymn,  --      -124 

Hymn,    - -   -   -   -   -   -125 

Hymn,   ------------   t26 

Happy  New  Year,         -----.----    I2j 

The  Bachelor,    -----------134 

Impromptu — To  My  Wife,    ---------    135 

My  Walk, 136 

Our  Departed  Hero,     --...---..    ^3 
Night,         ....  ......        J^Q 

The  Child's  Waking  Hymn,  142 

Resurgam, -144 


POEMS. 


GLIMPSES   OF   THE   SPIRIT-LAND. 


KO.   I. — THE  THRESHOLD. 

WHAT  mists  are  these  that  hang  before  my  eye, 
And  hide  me  from  the  faces  that -I  love  ? 
What  form  is  this  that  to  my  side  draws  nigh, 

And  hovers  o'er  me  like  some  phantom  dove  ? 
My  recollection  reels,  and  through  my  brain 

My  wandering    thoughts    like   orphaned    children 

creep, 

While  round  my  form  I  hear  a  sound  like  rain, 
For  so  the  angels'  steps  appear  in  sleep. 

What  light  is  this  that  gilds  this  opening  morn  ? 

What  sweet-robed  train  now  waits  around  my  side  ? 
And  why  this  waiting  for  the  day's  young  dawn  ? 

This  seeming  waiting  for  a  soul's  sweet  bride  ? 
A  form  I  see  from  out  this  blessed  throng, 

As  now  she  pillows  me  upon  her  breast, 


10  GLIMPSES  OF  THE   SPIRIT-LAND. 

My  Guardian  One,  whose  harp  shall  tune  my  song, 
Who  loving  me  attends  me  to  my  rest. 

And  this  is  Death,  that  once  so  much  I  feared, 

Disrobing  of  the  mantle  that  I  wore  ; 
And  these  the  forms  that  all  my  life  have  cheered, 

Now  bearing  me  where  all  of  death  is  o'er. 
With  sweet  discourse  they  chain  my  listening  ear, 

And  tell  me  now  of  this  sweet  land  I  see, 
Till  into  pearls  they  crystallize  each  tear, 

And  all  I  feel  is  one  vast  melody. 

But  yet,  O  earth  !  again  I  turn  to  thee, 

As  now,  with  clearer  vision,  I  behold 
Each  loving  form  that  still  doth  cling  to  me, 

Whose  aching  hearts  leave  all  their  griefs  untold. 
I  go  ;  for,  like  the  autumn  leaves  the  wind 
.  Has  gently  loosed  upon  each  bending  bough, 
Have  griefs  around  this  heart  of  mine  entwined 

And  loosed  the  hold  my  life  has  felt  till  now. 

Yet  not  in  sorrowing  my  spirit  greets 

The  forms  that  bear  me  through  these  clouds  away, 
But  as  the  chrysalis  its  summons  meets, 

O'er  flowering  fields  to  greet  the  new-born  day  ; 
I  go,  but  in  that  Land,  to  us  so  near, 

As  near  the  flower  is  to  its  budding  stem, 
I  too  will  linger  round  my  loved  ones  here, 

And  round  their  couch  in  triumph  wait  for  them. 


GLIMPSES  OF  THE  SPIRIT-LAND.  \\ 


NO.   II. — RE-UNION. 

HOW  often  loosed  the  silver  cord  we  find, 
And  at  its  fount  the  golden  bowl  is  broken  ; 
But  Love  is  stronger  than  the  cords  that  bind 
Our  fragile  forms — outlives  each  earthly  token. 


So  while  around  this  tufted  grass  we  stand, 
And  for  our  loss  our  bleeding  hearts  repine, 

We  see  afar  the  Amaranthine  Land, 

The  vine-clad  hills  beyond  this  flowing  Rhine. 


And  then  we  see — what  Doubt  forbade,  but  Thought 
Made  sure — that  there  each  loving  form  we'll  find, 

And  in  that  Land,  as  heaven's  own  prophets  taught, 
We  all  shall  meet,  no  wanderer  left  behind. 


And  as  the  dew-drops  mingle  on  the  rose, 
And  stars  are  sweetly  grouped,  our  hearts  explain, 

How  in  that  Land,  the  longing  soul  well  knows, 
We'll  mingle  there  on  that  far-reaching  plain  ; 


In  rhythmic  groups  our  rhythmic  hearts  be  formed 
To  drink  the  music  of  the  higher  spheres, 

And  all  our  joys  by  Harmonies  conformed, 

Make  real  what  now  we  dimly  see  through  tears. 


12  GLIMPSES  OF  THE  SPIRIT-LAND, 


NO.   III. — REALITIES. 

T  HAVE  such  thoughts  so  beautiful  and  sweet 
•*•  I  fain  embrace  as  night  each  nestling  star, 
That  come  as  does  the  morn,  with  dewy  feet. 

And  heralding  the  joy  that  breaks  afar  ; 
And  thoughts,  to  me  so  simply  true  and  real — 

As  real  as  dew-drops  are  unto  the. leaf, 
That  I  discourse  until  my  fond  Ideal 

Is  wedded  to  the  form  of  my  Belief. 

The  Spirit- Land  then  stands  before  my  eyes 

Not  as  a  city  we  in  fancy  make, 
But  as  a  city  'neath  the  moonlight  lies 

With  shadows  seen  reposing  on  the  lake  ; 
And  I  can  clearly  see  the  silver  spray 

That  sparkles  when  the  boatman  lifts  his  oar, 
As  towards  the  Palace  of  Immortal  Day 

Through  silent  waves  he  plies  his  passage  o'er. 

And  then  a  sound  comes  floating  to  my  ears 

Like  rustling  leaves  the  playful  winds  had  fanned, 

Until  the  Gates  I've  seen  through  falling  tears, 
I  clearly  see  with  Heaven's  own  rainbow  spanned ; 

And  beings  here  that  to  my  dreams  belong, 
.  With  waving  palms  attend  each  welcome  band, 

And  with  their  starry  harps  recite  in  song 
The  harmonies  that  fill  the  Spirit- Land  : 

And  there  are  seen  those  blooming  fields  and  rills 
That  fringe  the  margin  of  that  peaceful  Bay, 


GLIMPSES  OF   THE  SPIRIT-LAND.  13 

The  life  the  same  that  here  our  b.osoms  thrills 
Still  finds  us  pilgrims  on  our  upper  way  ; 

And  I  rejoice  so  real  to  find  it  all, 

As  finds  the  chrysalis  the  fields  and  trees, 

That  Doubt  was  but  the  shadow  of  the  wall, 
My  spirit  now  through  its  own  starlight  sees. 


NO.   IV. — VISIONS. 

T  HAVE  had  dreams,  should  I  attempt  to  speak 
•*-  In  vain  my  lips  would  now  essay  to  tell, 
As  would  the  stars  should  they  begin  to  teach 
The  loveliness  that  in  their  bosoms  dwell. 

When  sleep  has  come,  and  'neath  her  dewy  wings 
The  angels  find  me  folded  on  her  breast, 

My  soul  before  them  like  a  tablet  spread, 
With  visions  then  have  so  my  heart  impressed, 

That  I  retain  the  pictured  scenes  within, 
And  all  the  raptures  that  my  spirit  knew, 

As  lovers'  hearts  the  imaged  face  retain, 
Or  as  in  leaves  the  flowers  retain  their  dew. 

And  thus  I  muse  on  visions  past  I've  had, 
The  scenes  that  nightly  bind  me  in  their  spell, 

Until  the  life  I  spend  within  in  sleep, 
Becomes  more  real  than  that  in  which  we  dwell. 


14       GLIMPSES  OF  THE  SPIR1T-LAXD. 


NO.  V. — THE  DREAMER. 

TN  this  vast  temple  of  the  soul, 

•*-  What  fairy  glimpses  here  have  we, 

When  closed  are  all  the  outer  doors 

From  which  the  outer  world  we  see ; 
And  as  our  spirits  then  may  roam 

From  land  to  land,  and  star  to  star, 
And  bring  the  Spirit- Land  so  near, 

We  once  had  thought  so  dimly  far. 

What  truth  and  beauty  then  impress 

The  spirit's  likeness  on  the  face, 
When  as  the  starlight  meets  the  star 

The  Spirit- Land  and  we  embrace  ; 
And  thus  are  mirrored  on  the  cheek 

The  shadows  of  that  world  of  love, 
As  through  the  soul  the  figures  pass — 

The  imaged  forms  of  those  above. 

The  eyes  are  closed,  as  night  lets  down 

Her  curtains  from  the  dewy  skies  ; 
But  as  the  night  reveals  the  stars 

The  day  had  hidden  from  our  eyes, 
So,  when  all  outer  gates  are  closed, 

And  sculptured  sleep  our  lips  may  seal, 
Then  round  our  forms  the  Land  is  seen, 

That  now  these  outer  doors  conceal. 

And  as  the  notes  in  music  rise, 

And  in  successive  scales  must  chime, 


GLIMPSES  OF  THE  SPIRIT-LAND. 

So  next  this  world  that  round  us  lies 
The  Spirit- Land  takes  up  the  rhyme  ; 

And  all  things  here  that  now  we  have, 
Are  types  of  those  we  there  shall  see, 

As  note  to  note,  and  scale  to  scale, 
Here  typify  the  Harmony. 


NO   VI. — CHANGE. 

"\  T  7HY  should  we  mourn  that  changes  come, 

*  *      When  'neath  the  cold  and  shrouded  snow, 
The  grass  and  flowers  may  shelter  find, 
And  in  the  darkness  bud  and  grow  ? 

Why  should  we  mourn  that  clouds  are  formed 

And  o'er  our  drooping  spirits  fly  ? 
The  law  that  forms  the  clouds  expands 

The  bow  and  brings  unclouded  sky. 

Our  hopes  may  fall  like  leaves  away, 
And  swiftly  pass  each  winged  hour  ; 

But  leaves  ne'er  fall  until  the  fruit 
Is  formed  within  the  bursting  flower. 

Then  change  is  Angel  of  the  Soul, 
That  keeps  all  things  from  swift  decay, 

Through  which  the  crystal  here  is  formed 
And  life  anew  may  spring  alway. 


l6  •  GLIMPSES  OF  THE  SPIRIT-LAND. 

Thus  when  upon  these  thoughts  I  muse, 
That  once  awoke  my  brooding  fears, 

I  see  how  Beauty's  matchless  soul 
In  all  with  cheerful  robes  appears. 

I  see  the  worm  upon  the  ground 
With  golden  tints  expand  its  wing  ; 

What,  then,  as  more  than  worm  I  am, 
Unto  my  soul  shall  changes  bring  ? 


NO.   VII. — THE   SPIRIT'S   WELCOME. 

T  T  7ELCOME,  sweet  dweller  from  the  earth, 

*  ^     Sweet  welcome  to  these  gates  of  Day  ! 
Thy  soul  has  now  its  second  birth, 
And  like  a  bird  may  soar  away. 


Welcome  !  the  night  of  grief  is  o'er, 
.   Of  pain  and  strife  and  wasting  care  ; 
We  here  outlive  each  scar  we  bore, 
And  none  have  burdens  here  to  bear. 

For  Thought  and  Play  and  Work  and  Love, 
Go  gayly  walking  hand  in  hand, 

And  in  these  fields  of  light  above 

They  here  go  rhyming  through  the  Land. 

All  sin  and  discord  here  must  end, 
And  none  exist  except  in  dreams, 


GLIMPSES  OF  THE  SPIRIT-LAND.  \J 

For  here  with  God  our  spirits  blend, 
And  fountains  purify  their  streams. 

No  night  is  here  to  mantle  o'er, 

Like  some  dark  bird  of  brooding  wing  ; 

For  joy  reigns  here  for  evermore, 
And  hopes  forever  blossoming. 


'Tis  true,  we  look  above  and  see 
The  Spheres  as  they  encircling  rise, 

But  then  we  know  in  harmony 
Each  field  in  sweet  progression  lies. 

Of  discontent  we  cherish  none 
As  here  we  cast  a  glance  afar, 

But  'neath  the  splendors  of  our  Sun 
We  journey  on  from  star  to  star. 


NO.   VIII. — HEAVENLY  JOY. 

T  TOW  full  of  ceaseless  life  the  world  ! 
•*•-*•  Its  mountains,  fields,  and  streams, 
And  every  changing  scene  within 

That  through  each  spirit  gleams. 
The  bird  goes  flying  through  the  air, 

The  waves  go  rushing  from  the  shore, 
So  thought  goes  bounding  through  the  soul, 

Where  it  shall  ne'er  be  silenced  more. 


18  GLIMPSES  OF   THE   SPIRIT-LA. VD. 

The  Joys  of  Heaven  must  ceaseless  be, 

Not  listless  as  the  sand 
Some  wave  had  borne  across  the  sea 

And  piled  upon  the  land  ; 
Nor  do  they  cloy  or  fade  away, 

But  to  the  soul  return  again, 
As  skies  receive  the  streamlet's  gift 

To  pour  it  back  in  dew  and  rain. 

And  what  is  Joy  ?    The  boundless  stream 

That  slakes  each  thirsting  soul, 
From  Love's  sweet  fount  of  being  fed, 

By  Wisdom  taught  to  roll ; 
Whose  fount  in  vain  we  seek  to  reach, 

Whose  source  we  vainly  seek  to  know, 
But  by  whose  ever  living  banks 

The  pleasures  deepen  as  we  go. 


NO.   IX. — LAND   OF   BLISS. 

OLAND  of  Bliss  !  my  heart  now  turns 
With  longing  hopes  to  thee, 
As  long  the  blossoms  for  the  spring 

The  sunbeams  strive  to  free  ; 
O  stream  of  Time  !  on  whose  sweet  wave, 

Like  flowers  upon  thy  breast, 
My  thoughts  thy  flowing  tide  doth  bend 
Towards  that  sweet  Land  of  rest. 

O'Land  of  Fruit,  that  hangs  so  rich 
Upon  thy  bending  trees  ! 


GLIMPSES  OF  THE   SPIRIT-LAND.  19 

Oh  !  when  shall  I  beneath  thy  shade 

Inhale  the  swelling  breeze  ? 
And  with  these  rapturous  eyes  behold 

The  white-robed  angel  band, 
And  drink  the  flowing  landscape  in — 

The  sweet  and  dewy  land  ? 

And  with  me  too,  the  beings  loved, 

Find  all  of  sorrow  o'er — 
When  shall  these  tearful  partings  cease 

On  life's  retreating  shore  ? 
And  by  those  living  streams  may  pluck 

The  amaranth  and  rose, 
And  drink  the  nectar  from  the  streams 

Where  deathless  water  flows  ? 


O  Land  of  Bliss  !  my  heart  now  turns 

With  longing  hopes  to  thee, 
As  long  the  blossoms  for  the.  spring 

The  sunbeams  strive  to  free  ; 
O  stream  of  Time  !  on  whose  sweet  wave, 

Like  flowers  upon  thy  breast, 
My  thoughts  thy  flowing  tide  doth  bend 

Towards  that  sweet  Land  of  rest. 
1850. 


20  LINES. 


LINES 

TO  REV.   FREDERIC  T.  GRAY,  ON   HIS  DEPARTURE  FOR 
THE   ATLANTIC   STATES. 


'T^HOU  faithful  soldier  of  the  cross,  farewell ! 
-••     Our  pastor  kind,  devoted  friend  and  guide, 
Our  smitten  hearts  with  grateful  feelings  swell, 

And  from  our  eyes  gush  forth  the  tearful  tide 
As  to  our  ears  thy  parting  words  are  breathed 

From  lips  on  which  the  dews  of  Hermon  fell ; 
Which  to  our  souls  the  Father's  love  bequeathed, 

And  joyed  the  Master's  matchless  life  to  tell. 
Farewell,  thou  Sower  of  the  Word  !  like  seeds 

Upon  the  ground,  thy  words  within  our  hearts 
We  gently  fold  ;  the  Sun  of  Righteousness  succeeds, 

And  fruit  and  verdure  to  our  lives  imparts ; 
And  thus  draw  near  the  Harvest  Day  that  bring 
The  fruits  that  blossom  for  an  endless  spring. 


n. 
But  ere  thy  bark  is  parted  from  the  land 

And  ploughs  once  more  the  free  and  stainless  sea, 
We  linger  round  to  take  thy  parting  hand, 

And  see  !  the  children  pressing  near  to  thee  ! 
We  do  not  come  with  priceless  gems,  nor  gold, 

Nor  alabaster  box  whose  perfumes  yield 
A  costly  gift,  but  grateful  hearts  unfold 

The  fervent  wish  that  God  shall  be  thy  shield. 


FAITH,  HOPE,  AND  CHARITY.  21 

t  Then  fare  thee  well !     Flow  gently,  waves  that  bear 

Thy  friendly  bark,  just  parted  from  the  shore  ; 
To  home,  and  flock,  and  friends,  and  to  His  care 

Who  tames  the  sea,  we  leave  thee  evermore  ; 
To  Him  who  safely  holds  within  his  hand 
The  raging  sea  and  wide  extended  land. 

SAN  FRANCISCO,  1854. 


FAITH,   HOPE,   AND   CHARITY. 

Written  after  seeing  a  painting  by  ADELE  KENDT,  now  belonging  to 
John  Hooper,  Esq.,  of  Boston. 


LOVED  sisters  of  the  soul,  I  love  ye  more 
Now  that  upon  this  canvas  sheet  I  see 
Ye  sweetly  grouped,  and  fain  would  I  implore 

(So  real  ye  seem)  one  blended  smile  from  ye  ! 
It  is  no  fiction  this — no  fancied  work  of  Art ; 

From  earliest  childhood,  in  its  fairest  dream, 
And  in  transfigured  hours,  in  inmost  heart 

I  knew  ye  all,!  so  vivid  now  ye  seem. 
And  know  ye  me  ?    Ah !  greater  this  than  all 
The  flatteries  of  kings,  of  state  and  court. 
In  this  your  rainbowed  throne  and  crystal  hall 

Have  you  my  humble  name  with  gold  inwrought  ? 
Or,  if  my  name  is  traced  but  faintly  there, 
By  loving  ye,  may  I  your  converse  share  ? 


22  THE   OAK  AND    VINE. 

II. 

So  sweet  the  thought  now  steals  upon  my  brain, 

If  loving  ye  would  draw  me  closer  there, 
I'd  breathe  my  life  away,  as  clouds  in  rain, 

When  flowers  come  in  answer  to  their  prayer ! ' 
But  greater  still  the  thought  we  learn  from  ye, 

Ye  are  the  cherub  ones  we  nurse  within — 
Our  angel  guests,  the  forms  that  now  we  see, 

To  toll  the  death  of  Doubt,  of  Agony,  and  Sin. 
If  now  so  fair,  how  fairer  far  ye'll  be, 

When  Truth  is  welcomed  as  the  peaceful  dove, 
When  Faith  and  Hope  in  Wisdom's  soul  we'll  see, 

And  dew-eyed  Charity  is  lost  in  Love  ? 
Sweet  scene  !  but  should  we  fail  to  make  it  real, 
In  vain  we  idly  gaze  on  this  ideal. 
1851. 


THE   OAK  AND   VINE. 

T  TOW  feeble  and  how  frail  the  works  of  all ! 
*~  •*•  Man  rears  his  stately  pyramids  in  pride, 
But  'neath  the  peltings  of  the  storm  they  fall 

And  moulder  away  by  the  pilgrim's  side. 
I'm  weak  I  know.     I've  leaned  upon  the  world, 

A  broken  reed  it  surely  proved  to  me  ; 
And  when  from  peaceful  scenes  I'm  rudely  hurled, 

It  never  gives  my  heart  true  sympathy. 
And  yet  I  can  not  feel  to  stand  alone 

As  does  the  oak  that  ne'er  for  mercy  pleads  ; 


TO  SOME    WEEDS.  2$ 

To  lean  as  does  the  vine  I'm  always  prone — 

Though  rich  in  buds  and  leaves,  a  prop  it  needs, 
And  so  without  thy  arms  to  be  my  stay, 
O  God  !  I'll  droop  and  perish  by  the  way. 
1843. 


TO   SOME   WEEDS 

THAT   ARE    GROWING    ON    THE    EAVES    OF    A    HOUSE 
OPPOSITE    MY    WINDOW. 

TTOW  often  in  the  sultry  noonday  hours, 

•*•  •*•  When  scorching  rays  had  tinged  each  tender  leaf, 

With  burning  lips  still  pleading  for  relief 
To  some  sweet  cloud  that  sheds  its  tears  in  showers, 
I've  gazed  on  thee,  and  felt  how  much  thy  life 

Resembled  mine.     I'm  parched  and  pining  too  ; 

And  like  a  flower  that  thirsts  for  rain  and  dew, 
My  soul  is  weary  of  the  dust  and  strife. 
And"  yet  as  from  thy  roots  sweet  moisture  springs 

Of  rains  and  dews  thou  long  hast  treasured  there, 

And  drank  in  beauty  from  the  morning  air, 
Which  to  thy  drooping  leaves  new  verdure  brings, 
So  Mem'ry  on  the  heart  in  dew  distills, 
And  pours  her  balm  through  all  her  secret  rills. 
1848. 


24  TO  LITTLE  LIZZIE. 


DISTRUSTFULNESS. 

T  TOW  oft  we  fear  and  falter  by  the  way, 

•••  •**  While  fancy  paints  with  clouds  the  future  sk)', 

Till  mortals  think  they  have  on  earth  no  stay, 

And  none  to  wipe  the  tear  from  sorrow's  eye. 
But  fear  not,  timid  soul,  for  Go'd  will  give 

Thee  strength  thy  cross  to  bear,  to  tread  the  vale. 
He  gives  e'en  birds  a  wintry  robe  t'  outlive 

Each  blast  of  winter's  drear  and  chilling  gale ; 
Or  else  directs  their  flight  to  summer  fields, 

Whose  warmer  rays  regale  each  passing  breeze — 
Where  summer  bland  in  purest  friendship  yields 

A  safe  retreat  among  her  woodland  trees  ; 
And  so  He  gives  us  strength  our  cross  to  bear, 
And  watches  o'er  us  with  a  Father's  care. 
1846. 


TO   LITTLE   LIZZIE. 

I  MET  thee,  child,  amidst  a  fairy  scene, 
A  princely  hall*  festooned  with  leaves  and  flowers, 
And  tables  spread,  the  fruit  of  many  hours, 
And  caught  a  glimpse  of  thee,  behind  the  screen 
Of  waving  leaves  that  fanned  thy  thoughtful  brow. 
And  as  the  wise  men  sought  the  child  of  old, 
And  brought  their  myrrh  and  urns  of  virgin  gold, 
So  does  my  heart  consume  its  incense  now. 

*Faneuil  Hall,  Boston. 


TO  JENNY  LIND.  2, 

Behold  the  loved,  the  amaranthine  child, 
Whose  soul  now  glimmers  through  her  eyes  like 

light 

The  stars  do  shed  between  the  lids  of  night, 
And  pour  their  beauty  o'er  each  vale  and  wild. 
The  sweet  prophetic  child  !     How  like  a  vine 
Our  loving  hearts  round  thine  do  now  entwine  ! 
1849. 


TO  JENNY   LIND. 

Written  after  seeing  her  from  her  window  waving  her  handkerchief  to 
the  multitude  below. 

T  HAVE  not  heard  thee  carol  on  the  air 

•*•    One  note,  sweet  Nightingale,  within  thy  bower, 

And  yet  I  know  thy  soul  is  passing  fair, 

And  sweet  as  cells  embosomed  in  the  flower. 
I  have  but  seen  thee,  bending  o'er  thy  nest 

To  greet  the  multitude  entranced  by  thee, 
With  love  and  fervor  mingled  in  each  breast, 

Moved  by  thy  name  and  sweet  simplicity. 
'Tis  not  to  Art  alone  they  breathe  a  name 

They  speak  so  soft  as  to  a  lily's  breast ; 
Thou'rt  greater  than  the  gift  bestowed  by  fame, 

Beyond  its  power  to  give  and  frail  behest ; 
But  'tis  to  thee,  whose  soul  within  keeps  time 
To  all  that's  rich  in  song  and  sweet  in  rhyme. 
1850. 


26 


A  BLESSING   FOR   THE   CHILDREN. 

A    HAPPY  year  !  the  year  that  now  has  birth, 
•*•*•    Whose  sky  so  calm,  so  clear,  it  seems  to  say, 
All  things  bless  us,  and  e'en  the  blooming  earth 

Reflects  the  blessing  on  our  hearts  to-day. 
A  happy  year  to  you,  to  each  and  all, 

Ye  youthful  pilgrims  in  this  favored  land  ! 
But  'tis  no.t  mine  from  heaven  this  gift  to  call, 

Tis  yours  alone  to  seek  the  angel  hand. 
There  is  a  path  conducting  to  the  goal, 

And  duty  to  the  willing  heart  is  light ; 
This  path  pursued,  and  to  your  wishful  souls 

The  changing  year  shall  bring  no  coming  blight ; 
New  stars  shall  come  your  future  sky  to  cheer, 
And  each  shall  prove  to  you  a  happy  year. 

Jan.  i,  1858. 


SONNET. 

AGAIN  my  eyes  behold  the  cottage  fair 
Once  to  my  cheerful  voice  and  footsteps  known, 
Where  oft  its  joys  and  sweets  I  used  to  share, 

To  which  my  heart  had  long  in  exile  flown. 
Now  busy  thoughts  come  crowding  to  my  brain, 

As  through  the  past  my  soul  recalls  each  scene, 
The  sloping  roof,  where  patt'ring  came  the  rain, 

The  village  church  behind  its  leafy  screen  ; 
And  how  with  merry  heart  it  met  my  sight 

When  absence  drove  me  from  its  sweets  away, 


A   TABLEAU.  ^-] 

The  lights  that  glimmered  through  the  dusky  night, 
.    That  from  its  window  sent  their  cheering  ray. 
Alas  !  these  scenes  invite  no  more  my  breast ; 
The  bird  has  flown,  and  empty  is  the  nest ! 
1847. 


,  A   TABLEAU. 

MORNING. 

'T^HE  new-born  light  comes  floating  o'er  the  hill, 

-*•     Kissing  the  orange  leaves  upon  its  way, 
And  kindly  ent'ring  at  my  window  sill, 

Illumes  my  cabin  with  its  feeble  ray. 
But  not  with  joy  I  ope  my  slumb'ring  eyes, 

As  flowers  their  leaves  to  greet  the  coming  morn, 
That,  drinking  in  the  sunshine  from  the  skies, 

Feel  all  the  pleasures  of  a  life  new-born. 
I  wake,  but  with  the  dawn  my  restless  heart 

Feels  no  sweet  dew  or  sunshine  ling'ring  there, 
But  griefs  that  cause  each  dawning  hope  to  start, 

And  thoughts  of  outrage,  wrong,  and  wasting  care. 
O  God  !  when  from  thy  gates  the  light  appears, 
Should  it  wake  such  bleeding  hopes  and  fears  ? 


NOON. 

t  I  "*HE  noonday  hour  has  come  :  beneath  this  tree 
-•-     I  sit  me  down  to  eat  my  simple  meal ; 
The  winds  come  floating  by,  so  wild  and  free, 

They  whisper  thoughts  that  through  my  bosom  steal ; 


28  A    TABLEAU. 

The  stream  is  free  that  courses  through  the  vales, 

The  waves  whose  music  breaks  upon  our  shore,     » 
The    clouds    that    spread    their    wings    like   crimson 
sails — 

All  whisper  thoughts  that  die  in  me  no  more  !  • 
Why  should  I  thus  be  doomed  to  wear  a  chain  ? 

To  bare  my  back  beneath  the  driver's  whip  ? 
To  pour  my  sweat  for  him  like  drops  of  rain, 

And  ne'er  have  power  to  ope  my  burning  lip  ? 
Is  this  the  boon  for  those  who  till  the  soil, 
To  reap  such  harvests  for  their  willing  toil  ? 


EVENING. 

'  I  ^HE  golden  sun  has  sunk  all  silently, 

•*•    And  dewy  eve  comes  gliding  to  my  side, 
As  by  I  pass  each  fragrant  bush  and  tree, 

Beneath  whose  leaves  our  little  cabins  hide. 
With  weary  limbs  yet  beating  heart  I  go, 

To  meet  my  sweet  and  loved  ones  at  my  door, 
Which  smiling  Hope  has  circled  with  her  bow, 

And  where  my  love  has  gathered  all  her  store. 
And  yet  why  o'er  my  soul  this  horror  steals  ? 

Why  from  my  pent-up  heart  this  death-like  sigh  ? 
The  thought  that  e'er  this  bursting  heart  conceals, 

Whene'er  my  home  is  pictured  in  my  eye  ; 
The  fear  that  hangs  a  cloud  before  my  sight, 
The  wrong  that  shrouds  my  soul  in  folds  of  night. 


SONNETS.  29 


NIGHT. 

NO  sound  now  steals  upon  the  breathless  air, 
Save  that  of  leaves  that  fan  the  sleeping  flowers  ; 
Our  own  north  star  ne'er  seemed  so  bright  and  fair, 

As  through  these  vines  it  seeks  these  hearts  of  ours. 
What  hopes  and  fears  now  crowd  my  aching  brain, 

As  by  our  sleepless  breasts  our  children  lie  ? 
To  make  us  free  does  night  now  pour  her  strain, 

For  which  the  stars  are  beck'ning  in  the  sky  ? 
We  snatched  our  babes,  so  young  and  fair  they  seemed 

Like  sweet-breathed  blossoms  clinging  to  our  breast, 
While  sweetly  in  its  blue  the  north  star  beamed, 

As  forth  we  went  to  seek  a  northern  nest. 
O  God  !  what  cloud  is  rolling  at  our  back  ? 
Oh  !  keep  the  blood-hounds  from  our  tear-stained  track. 

1850. 


SONNETS, 
i. 

THE   WELCOME. 

more  with  sunny  heart  and  beaming  eyes 
I  welcome  thee.    The  magic  of  thy  art, 
It  is  the  welcome  poured  upon  the  skies 

When  summer  breathes  and  buds  begin  to  start ; 
For  thou  hast  oped  new  founts  within  my  soul, 
And  spread  new  beauty  round  this  heart  of  mine, 


30  SONNETS. 

And  with  sweet  pictures  traced  its  hidden  scroll, 
With  characters  whose  tints  are  all  divine. 

'Tis  not  the  tinsel  that  this  life  displays 

That  captivates  and  chains  my  soul  to  thee  ; 

But  that  thy  heart  each  tone  and  look  portrays, 
Revealing  there  thy  soul's  rich  jewelry — 

'Tis  this  that  makes  my  heart  with  thine  entwine, 

And  me  a  pilgrim  at  thy  holy  shrine. 


n. 

THE   QUESTION. 

TTAST  thou  not  gazed  at  eventide  alone 

•*•  -*•    On  some  bright  star  that  gemmed  the  dewy  sky, 

And  mused  till  love  made  that  sweet  star  thine  own, 

And  felt  e'er  more  the  soothing  star-light  nigh  ? 
So  does  my  heart  retain  the  good  it  drank 

While  listening  to  thy  speech  that  on  it  fell, 
Entranced  like  flowers  beside  the  streamlet's  bank, 

That  musing,  owned  the  magic  of  the  spell. 
And  as  that  stream  reveals  in  its  sweet  flow 

Each  gushing  rill  through  beds  of  roses  strained, 
The  falling  spray,  the  rosy-tinted  bow, 

And  changing  skies  that  on  its  bosom  rained  ; 
So  doth  thy  speech  reveal  the  hidden  sky, 
The  founts  and  rills  that  in  thy  spirit  lie. 


SONNETS.  31 


III. 
THE   WISH. 

T  WOULD  that  while  I  muse  and  sing  of  thee, 
-•-  I  might  then  hold  thy  trembling  hand  in  mine, 
And  in  the  blue  within  thy  star-lit  eye  might  see 

Whether  my  own  is  there  enshrined  in  thine  ! 
Or  like  the  leaves  that  glide  neglected  by, 

That  oft  we  heedless  trample  'neath  our  feet, 
Or  warm  south  winds  that  pass  us  with  a  sigh, 

Thou  dost  these  humble  breathings  greet. 
E'en  then  the  thought  would  not  oppress  my  soul, 

Nor  vain  regrets  across  my  bosom  steal, 
For  then  in  thee  I'd  own  thy  sweet  control 

To  lift  the  veil  that  hides  my  fond  ideal. 
Not  thus  this  welcome  comes  to  thee,  I  know, 
The  cloud  rejects  the  stream  it  taught  to  flow  ! 


IV. 
THE    APOLOGY. 

TF  while  you  read  these  lines  I've  penned  for  thee, 
•*-  The  thought  should  softly  steal  across  thy  heart 
That  I  too  much  have  loved  till  hearts  agree  ! 

Let  now  the  thought  no  more  in  thee  have  part ; 
It  is  that  thou  hast  stood  'twixt  me  and  all 

My  soul  has  loved  in  woman's  soul  and  name, 


32  SO.VXETS. 

And  canst  sweet  glimpses  to  my  soul  recall 
Of  all  that  love  has  kindled  into  flame  ; 

The  silent  joy  that  on  my  heart  was  shed, 

Like  some  sweet  star  that  lingered  o'er  my  way, 

The  secret  thought  that  all  my  footsteps  led 
And  fashioned  me  by  its  controlling  sway ; 

Forgive  me,  then,  if  now  these  pictured  skies 

I  see  reflected  in  thy  soul-lit  eyes. 


v. 

GLIMPSES. 

"1 T  7ITH  vision  rapt,  as  toward  the  spangled  skies 

*   *     The  lone  astronomer  doth  bend  his  sight, 
And  nightly  there,  within  the  blue,  espies 

Each  shining  orb  that  gems  the  brow  of  night, 
And  finds  his  joy  to  note  each  changing  view 

That  bursts  upon  his  sight,  a  joy  new-born, 
And  never  tires,  but  finds  his  task  more  new, 

Till  o'er  the  hills  there  breaks  the  coming  morn  ; 
So  doth  my  heart  ne'er  tire  to  gaze  on  thee, 

Sweet  star  that  Love  has  planted  in  my  sky,  * 
Which  on  my  soul-lit  disk  I  now  may  see, 

And  still  in  loving  thee  would  draw  more  nigh  ! 
Tires  not  while  I  recall  thy  looks  and  tones, 
As  shells  their  loves  within  their  sea-washed  cones. 


SONNETS.  33 


THE    SHRINE. 

XT  THAT  joy  is.  thine  that  through  thy  spirit  flows, 

*  *     The  gift  that  nature  gave  thy  generous  mind, 
A  woman's  soul  that  through  thine  eyelids  glows, 

Where  truthfulness  and  beauty  sit  enshrined  ; 
And  these  so  tempered  in  so  fine  a  mould 

That  there  sweet  Poesy  may  claim  her  bower, 
From  whose   fair    shrine    there   spring    such   sweets 
untold, 

The  rich  aroma  of  thy  soul's  sweet  flower, 
That  round  thy  form  an  atmosphere  there  seems 

To  make  all  hearts  for  seeing  thee  more  fair, 
Through  which  the  beauty  of  thy  spirit  gleams 

Like  star-light  through  the  pure  translucent  air  ; 
And  thus  entranced  I  go  from  seeing  thee, 
More  worshipful,  those  rays  had  met  in  me. 


VII. 
REPOSE. 

THINK  me  not,  Rose,  grown  cold,  or  love  thee  less, 
Than  first  I  learned  to  bless  and  speak  thy  name  ; 
When  to  our  lips  our  words  more  freely  came, 
All  fraught  with  thoughts  of  hope  and  tenderness. 
It  is  because  I  love  thee  more,  that  we 


34  SONNETS. 

Before  our  window  pane,  in  twilight  hour, 

Now  sit  entranced,  or  'neath  our  tangled  bower 
We  silent  sit  and  list  the  melody 

Of  running  streams  that  murmur  at  our  feet. 
My  joy  is  full,  our  hearts  together  chime, 
While  all  our  thoughts  translate  themselves  in  rhyme. 

And  thus  the  circle  of  our  joys  complete  ; 
What  need  of  words  to  break  the  soothing  spell, 
To  speak  what  silent  lips  can  better  tell  ? 


VIII. 

ABSENCE. 

T  TOW  dark  the  Night,  when  'neath  her  dewy  eyes 
•*•  •'•    •  No  meek-orbed  stars  adorn  her  princely  robes, 
But  hung  with  clouds,  the  still  and  starless  skies 

Forget  the  royal  pomp  that  gilds  their  globes  ! 
The  king  had  gone,  but  only  clouds  concealed 

The  view  that  kept  the  bridal  stars  from  sight ; 
For  deep  within,  his  royal  heart  revealed 

The  living  flames  that  kept  those  fires  so  bright, 
That  though  concealed  from  sight,  in  glittering  cars, 

With  golden  lance  and  banners  wet  with  dews, 
Did  light  proceed  to  kindle  up  the  stars, 

And  kept  them  glowing  with  their  crimsoned  hues  ; 
And  thus  thy  name  reveals  the  joys  I  feel, 
That  time  and  absence  would  in  vain  conceal. 


SONNETS.  35 

IX. 

LOVE   UNIVERSAL. 

*T*HE  love  the  soul  may  nurse  can  never  die, 
•*•     Nor  does  it  here  in  partial  circles  play  ; 
True  love  is  deep,  expansive  as  the  sky. 

And  has  immortality  for  its  day. 
There  is  a  love  the  flower  doth  bear  the  star, 

That  brooks  and  rills  must  cherish  for  the  rain, 
When  night  bedecks  the  sky,  or  when  afar 

The  dripping  clouds  hang  lingering  o'er  the  plain  ; 
But  only  flowers  can  mate  with  flowers,  and  cloud  with 
rill, 

And  suns    with   suns,  and    stars   with   stars    must 

chime ; 
Echo  answers  echo,  and  hill  to  hill, 

And  leaf  to  bud  and  bud  to  blossom  rhyme — 
Yet  each  with  voice  and  perfume  fills  the  air, 
And  loving  all,  loves  Him,  who  made  them  fair. 


x. 

THE   FAREWELL. 

/"VNCE  more  thy  music  dies  upon  my  ears, 

^•^   Like  distant  waves  upon  the  sea-washed  shore  ; 

My  soul  is  hushed,  and  now  in  silence  hears 

The  parting  voice  it  ne'er  may  listen  more  ; 
But  still  my  moistened  heart  within  doth  lie 

Like  grass  and  flowers  beneath  the  sheltered  wood, 


36  SONNETS. 

Through  which  the  falling  rain-drops  from  the  sky 
Between  the  leaves  invade  the  solitude. 

Ah  !  ne'er,  though  seas  may  roll  'twixt  thee  and  me, 
And  life  bewilder  by  its  toil  and  care, 

Can  I  forget  the  good  thou  wert  to  me, 
Or  Love  the  blended  sweets  it  used  to  share  : 

Forgive  the  hand  that  thus  in  silence  bore 

The  torch  no  other  soul  may  kindle  more. 


XI. 

EXPLANATION. 

THUS  have  I  mused  and  breathed  in  humble  verse, 
The  rose-leaved  thoughts   that  to  these  rhymes 

belong ; 
Thus  lonely  sung,  as  birds  their  notes  rehearse 

Though  none  may  listen  to  their  simple  song. 
It  was  not  mine  to  act  the  lover's  part, 

And  pour  the  words  that  they  alone  may  feel ; 
But  oft  I've  silent  nursed  within  my  heart 

A  love  my  timid  soul  could  not  reveal ! 
That  past  how  dear  \  a  templed  hall  I  tread 

That  angel  thought  around  my  soul  has  reared, 
And  oft  I  go  and  to  the  shrine  I'm  led 

Where  some  sweet  love  that  friendly  past  ensphered  ; 
And  thus  around  my  lonely  path  I  throw 
A"  gleam  of  light  that  even  I  may  know  ! 

1850. 


A    FIREMAN'S  ADDRESS.  37 


A   FIREMAN'S   ADDRESS. 

ALL  hail !  sweet  harp,  while  o'er  thy  tuneful  strings 
The  poet's  hand  his  humble  garland  flings — 
All  hail !  for  thou  dost  give  the  tribute  due 
To  all  that's  good  and  beautiful  and  true  ; 
Thy  rhythmic  tones  are  welcome  as  they  fall 
As  dew-drops  are  unto  each  leafy  hall ! 
As  welcome  to  our  feasts  as  in  the  choir, 
When  unto  God  we  raise  our  voice  and  lyre  ; 
As  welcome  e'er  within  the  cotter's  walls, 
As  when  they  flow  within  scholastic  halls. 

My  theme  to-day — this  festal  day  of  yours, 

To  noble  thoughts  my  willing  soul  allures  ; 

We  meet  to-day,  not  as  the  soldiers  meet, 

In  deadly  fight,  their  foe  beneath  their  feet ; 

This  joyous  day,  this  freeman's  ample  tent, 

Encircle  men  with  no  such  rude  intent. 

And  though  each  arm  we  raise,  each  breast  we  brave, 

In  manly  strength  we  challenge  but  to  save  ! 

To  see  what  arm  is  strongest  in  the  fight 

When,  worse  than  human  foe,  with  fearless  might 

The  red-hoofed  steed  with  blazing  chariots  roll, 

And  wrap  our  homes  within  their  winding  scroll ; 

With  blazing  torch  and  rushing  tones  advance, 

More  fierce  than  voice  of  war  or  soldier's  lance, 

While  fiercer  still  the  living  fire  ascends, 

And  o'er  the  burning  pile  pale  Terrorbends  ; 

And  fierce  Revenge  with  lurid  eye  looks  on, 

And  wildly  laughs  while  bleeding  hearts  are  torn. 


38  A   FIREHfAN'S  ADDRESS. 

But  list !  what  voice  is  this  that  cries  aloud  ? 
A  shriek  is  heard  !  and,  frantic-struck,  the  crowd 
Look  up,  the  ladder  trembles,  and  the  walls 
Are  falling  one  by  one  :   but  Duty  calls  ! 
With  manly  hearts  and  nerves  like  living  steel — 
For  hands  are  found  wherever  hearts  may  feel — 
A  fireman  mounts,  and  soon  within  his  arm 
He  bears  a  form  untouched  by  wrong  or  harm — 
A  woman's  form,  or  child's  with  laughing  eye, 
Heedless  as  blossoms  of  a  wintry  sky, 
And  'midst  the  cheers  that  fill  each  grateful  heart, 
In  safety  now  their  trembling  forms  depart. 


O  holy  love  !  that  prompts  to  deeds  like  these, 
That  fears  not  flood,  nor  fire,  nor  rolling  seas, 
But  where  the  burning  flames  in  madness  blaze, 
Or  rushing  winds  the  rolling  waves  upraise  ; 
Where  wrecks  on  land  or  sea,  or  helping  hand 
May  call,  can  summon  there  the  angel-band 
To  do,  to  suffer,  or  to  die,  to  bless  ; 
O  holy  love,  and  Heaven-born  tenderness  ! 
O  happy  Earth  !  if  all  thy  children  strove 
To  find  sweet  Wisdom's  paths — the  paths  of  Love  ; 
To  see  what  hands  the  lowly  seeds  might  sow 
That  round  our  homes  their  sweetest  perfume  throw, 
Or  pluck  the  most  of  weeds  that  choke  the  way 
Where  Joy's  pure  rills  in  gushing  fountains  play ; 
That  strive  the  most  to  quench  the  rising  flame 
That  blackens  o'er  that  best — a  brother's  name  ; 
That  wraps  the  world  in  clouds  of  fire  and  smoke, 
And  smites  the  earth,  as  'neath  the  battle's  stroke 


A   FIREMAN'S  ADDRESS.  39 

The  fields  lie  parched,  the  plains  with  crimson  wet, 
Where  once  the  Rill,  the  Rose,  and  Lily  met. 


No  smoke  to-day  ascends  from  hill  or  field  ; 

To  Commerce  now  our  conquering  arms  we  yield, 

To  star-eyed  Peace  we  bring  our  rhythmic  lyre, 

While  hushed  is  Sorrow's  voice  and  Passion's  fire. 

To  Science  now  our  willing  feet  are  led, 

Water  we  throw  instead  of  melted  lead, 

And  thus  we  quench  the  lurid  flames  that  rise 

And  hide  our  faces  from  the  smiling  skies. 

The  conqueror's  fame  in  winding  robes  we  lay, 

His  garlands  fade  before  the  coming  day. 

For  Labor  now  our  willing  hearts  revere, 

The  heart's  true  king,  to  freemen's  hearts  so  dear. 

To  labor  then  we  raise  our  thoughts  and  songs, 

And  plead  its  joys,  its  blessings,  and  its  wrongs, 

For  all  that  makes  this  earth  a  place  so  blest, 

And  gives  to  life  its  flavor  and  its  zest. 

We  like  its  noise,  the  voice  of  stream  and  bird, 

The  whispering  leaves,  the  low  of  distant  herd  ; 

The  sound  of  waters  from  the  gurgling  rills, 

The  whistle  shrill  that  echoes  o'er  the  hills  ; 

The  farmer's  flail,  the  ploughboy's  rustic  song, 

As  through  the  lane  he  careless  jogs  along  ; 

The  tinkling  bells  of  cattle  in  the  fields, 

The  social  tones  that  yonder  cottage  yields  ; 

O  music  sweet  and  dear  to  every  heart 

Wherever  founts  of  thought  and  feeling  start ! 

For  in  those  tones  all  notes  of  sweetness  blend, 

And  o'er  those  scenes  the  Loves  and  Graces  bend. 


40  A    FIREMAiV'S  ADDRESS. 

And  water  bright,  \ve  sing  thy  praises  too, 
That  falls  in  rain  and  in  the  mountain  dew  ; 
That  fills  the  streams  and  make  their  banks  run  o'er, 
And  piles  the  sand  along  old  Ocean's  shore  ; 
That  turns  the  wheels  that  make  the  spindles  fly, 
That  lifts  the  wave  and  piles  the  billows  high. 
Each  little  flower  that  blooms  upon  the  field, 
Doth  love  the  clouds  and  drink  the  drops  they  yield  ; 
The  tasselled  corn,  the  golden  wheat  look  up, 
And  share  the  drops  of  thy  o'erflowing  cup  ; 
While  fish  and  beast,  and  all  that  breathe  the  air, 
Thy  common  bounty  and  thy  blessing  share. 
Life-stream  and  current  of  the  earth  thou  art, 
Fair  type  of  Truth,  whose  silent  rivers  start, 
And  gushing  'neath  the  crystal  throne  above, 
Flow  on  through  circles  of  eternal  Love. 
To  Peace  enshrined,  with  Purity  ye  blend, 
To  Health  endeared,  to  Industry  a  friend  ; 
An  angel  moves  upon  thy  healing  wave, 
Bethesda  still  art  thou,  to  heal  and  save. 


There's  fire  whose  flames  around  our  dwellings  roll, 

There's  fire  that  burns  the  graces  of  the  soul, 

That  runs  in  madness  through  each  living  vein, 

And  gives  to  Death  the  terror  of  its  reign. 

For  fires  without  and  fires  within  that  glow, 

No  better  friend  than  water  springs  we  know  ; 

Then  blessing  on  the  clouds  that  blessing  fall ; 

All  blessing  on  the  fount  that  blesses  all ! 

To  labor  then,  we  pledge  each  heart  and  hand, 

And  from  the  streams  that  rhyming  through  the  land, 


A   FIRE  MAWS  ADDRESS.  4! 

Attune  the  soul  to  nature's  soothing  voice, 

We  quench  our  thirst  and  bid  our  hearts  rejoice. 

And  like  those  rills  that  through  our  meadows  flow, 

Refreshing  all  as  on  their  waters  go, 

Reflecting  in  their  breast  the  blue  above, 

And  bearing  to  the  sea  its  tale  of  love  ; 

So  pure  within  that  not  a  thought  has  birth 

But  brings  some  blessing  to  the  waiting  earth  ; 

So  pure  our  lives,  no  partial  ties  we  call, 

While  clouds  distill  and  water  runs  for  all. 

A  brother  see,  a  hand  we'll  give  to  save 

Wherever  sin  or  wrong  may  make  a  slave  ; 

In  Europe's  courts,  in  lands  accursed  by  chains, 

Or  in  our  own — where'er  oppression  reigns. 

And  as  the  rivers  rush  unto  the  sea, 

And  lose  themselves  in  its  immensity, 

While  o'er  its  breast  a  life  springs  up  anew, 

And  more  sublime  than  e'er  before  they  knew, 

Now  joining  lands  that  owned  no  friendly  scope, 

And  bearing  up  the  nations'  wealth  and  hope  ; 

So  as  our  thoughts  to  that  one  centre  bend 

Where  all  of  love  and  power  and  wisdom  blend, 

A  life  sublimer  far  than  seas  may  know 

Shall  greet  us  here  as  to  that  source  we  go. 


O  happy  country  ours  !  where  hearts  like  these, 

Erect  and  stalwart  as  our  northern  trees, 

In  virtue  schooled,  in  friendship's  chain  are  found, 

In  love's  sweet  name,  to  love's  sweet  cause  are  bound ; 

By  wisdom  taught  in  wisdom's  ways  to  go, 

Where  peace  abounds  and  pleasures  ever  flow. 


42  TEMPERANCE  ADDRESS. 

Then  welcome  all !  unto  the  brim  now  fill 
The  cup  of  joy  with  nectar  from  the  rill ; 
The  cheerful  word  now  pass  from  lip  and  heart, 
And  kindly  thoughts  from  their  deep  fountains  start, 
Till  hearts  run  o'er  as  do  the  stars  with  light, 
And  every  eye  shall  brighten  at  the  sight. 
1852. 


TEMPERANCE   ADDRESS. 

Delivered  before  the  Dashaway  Association,  San  Francisco,  Sunday 
evening,  December  i,  1861. 

IN  every  land  the  Poet  has  his  seat, 
Where  he  his  humble  verses  may  repeat ; 
While  listening  crowds  will  gather  round  to  hear, 
And  raise  a  smile — perchance  a  falling  tear. 
Sometimes  he  sings  of  love,  in  rhythmic  lays, 
Beside  his  lady's  feet,  her  eyelids  praise  ; 
Sometimes  in  sacred  hymns  he  breathes  his  lays, 
And  lifts  to  God  the  grateful  words  of  praise  ; 
In  organ  notes  the  swelling  sound  prolongs 
The  praise  of  Him  to  whom  all  praise  belongs. 
And  when  to  arms  his  country's  cause  he  hears, 
And  war  bursts  forth  upon  his  listening  ears  ; 
When  rifled  guns  and  booming  cannon  roar, 
And  hungry  vultures  o'er  our  armies  soar  ; 
When  Treason  shrieks  and  fills  our  stricken  land, 
To  arms  his  verses  call  and  nerve  the  soldier's  hand. 


TEMPERANCE  ADDRESS.  43 

To  arms  !  to  arms  !  repeats  the  startling  cry, 
Till  southward  still  our  noble  eagles  fly  ; 
And  high  o'er  all  our  starry  banners  wave 
O'er  freedom's  land  and  foul  rebellion's  grave. 

'Tis  not  of  war  the  Poet  speaks  to-night, 
Nor  is  it  love  that  fills  his  eyes  with  light  ; 
He  speaks  of  blight  far  wider  than  the  land 
Where  horses  with  their  stricken  riders  stand  ; 
Where  forests  vast  in  splintered  timbers  rest, 
Like  fallen  plumes  upon  a  monarch's  breast ; 
With  cultured  fields  of  corn  and  sheaves  bereft, 
And  nothing  but  the  bladeless  hillocks  left ; 
Where  orchard  trees  no  more  their  blossoms  yield, 
No  voice  of  robin  in  the  distant  field  ; 
No  nestlets  hanging  in  the  trembling  leaves, 
No  twittering  swallow  'neath  the  shady  eaves  ; 
Where  now  the  spearless  ground  and  broken  earth 
Speak  of  the  pangs  that  gave  fair  Freedom  birth. 

Nor  is  it  love  that  sleeps  'neath  Cupid's  wings 
And  like  the  nightingale  its  passion  sings  ; 
That  lives  on  dew  the  roses'  leaves  distill, 
And  drinks  the  nectar  that  the  moments  fill ; 
It  is  not  love  that  breaks  the  knightly  lance, 
And  brooks  not  smiles  from  a  rival's  glance  ; 
But  love  that  in  its  ample  folds  embrace 
Our  country,  God,  and  next  the  human  race. 

'Tis  evening  now,  the  Sabbath  hour  of  rest, 
The  dove  of  peace  is  nestling  on  each  breast ; 


44  TEMPERAXCE  ADDRESS. 

The  streets  are  still,  the  hour  of  rest  has  come, 
The  evening  bells  have  ceased  their  pleasant  hum. 
The  midnight  hours  approach — see  yonder  now, 
A  woman's  form,  how  pale  her  troubled  brow  ! 
Beside  the  window  pane  her  eyelids  wait 
To  watch  the  opening  of  the  cottage  gate. 
The  pale  stars  come  and  go,  the  moon  sweeps  by, 
But  naught  she  hears  except  the  watchman's  cry. 
Past  twelve  o'clock,  the  dial  figures  show, 
And  on  the  hearth  the  dying  embers  glow. 
Alone  she  sits,  how  cold  the  air  and  chill ! 
How  death-like  all,  the  weary  hours  how  still  ! 
The  shadows  come  and  go  upon  the  cottage  walls, 
Yet  round  the  dreary  door  no  footstep  falls. 
"  He  comes  not  yet,  my  weary  heart  shall  fail, 
Oh  !  see  my  child,  its  lips,  bow  cold  and  pale  ! 
Why  does  he  stay  ?    What  binds  his  stalwart  feet 
That  once  outran  the  mountain  reindeer  fleet  ? 
What  keeps  his  hand  away  from  latch  and  door  ? 
His  safe  return  our  weary  hearts  implore." 
The  hours  pass  on,  the  morning  light  appears  ; 
Behold  that  widow's  form — in  vain  her  tears. 
By  yonder  church  behold  each  new-made  grave, 
To  God  return  the  spirits  that  He  gave. 


All  o'er  this  earth,  as  thick  as  autumn  leaves, 

Are  homes  so  drear  and  sad,  and  graves  like  these. 

And  yet  we  sleep  while  viewless  through  the  air, 

Ten  thousand  gloomy  spectres  sit  and  stare, 

And  mock  at  man  and  at  his  folly  cry, 

While  to  each  heart  comes  up  the  question,  Why  ? 


TEMPERANCE  ADDRESS.  45 

Why  pass  you  then  the  sparkling  wine-cup  round. 

If  'neath  its  beads  the  serpent's  fangs  are  found  ? 

Why  pass  the  sparkling  liquid  to  the  lip, 

If  round  the  glass  is  pressed  the  viper's  grip  ? 

Excitement  call  you  to  the  burning  draught, 

And  all  thy  feelings  to  its  fountains  waft  ? 

Then  turn  to  nature  and  in  fields  and  streams, 

Taste  the  pure  joys  that  contemplation  yields. 

The  streams  will  teach  you,  as  they  pass  along, 

To  join  them  in  their  joyous  chant  and  song. 

The  trees,  that  blossom  in  the  dewy  fields, 

Whose  grateful  shade  the  weary  traveller  shields, 

Will  teach  you  thus  the  pilgrim  heart  to  cheer, 

To  seek  the  lost  and  dry  the  orphan's  tear  ; 

And  guide  your  thoughts — heavenward  the  feelings  tend 

To^where  all  hopes  and  prayers  in  beauty  blend. 


"  And  why  should  I  my  ruby  gkss  forego  ? 
My  brother's  keeper  ?     No,  I'm  not,  you  know. 
I'll  not  my  rights  and  blessings  sign  away  ; 
I  live  to  live,  and  to  enjoy  each  day.. 
This  life  is  poor  at  best ;  and  while  I  can, 
I'll  take  my  ease — I  know  no  better  plan." 
But  who  are  you  that  thus  so  wisely  talk  ? 
Look  at  yon  oak  that  shades  the  pebbled  walk. 
'Twas  once  a  tiny  thing — an  acorn  fell, 
And  now  its  leaves  the  passing  traveller  tell, 
How  faithfully  it  grew  each  day  to  be 
In  all  the  forest  wide  the  monarch  tree  ! 
Look  at  yon  streams  that  onward  press  their  way, 
That  love  the  sunlight  and  with  its  shadows  play  : 


46  TEMPERANCE  ADDRESS. 

High  up  'mid  mountain  crags  and  cooling  shade, 

Behold  the  fountain  that  the  rivers  made  ;'* 

A  trickling  rill  next  treads  the  mountain  sides  ; 

That  fills  the  rivers — to  the  ocean  glides. 

'Tis  not  the  glass,  that  last  the  tippler  takes, 

The  first  glass  always  thus  the  drunkard  makes. 

First  comes  the  seed  and  next  the  blades  appear, 

Next  the  full  corn  that  fills  the  ripened  ear. 

First  comes  the  babe,  whose  fair  and  twinkling  eyes 

Reflect  the  joys  that  in  its  bosom  rise. 

What  mother,  then,  that  clasps  her  darling  child, 

Can  picture  in  that  face  so  sweet  and  mild 

The  forms  that  live  within  the  tempter's  eye, 

As  spreading  leaves  within  their  blossoms  lie  ? 


Why  should  not  you  your  brother's  sorrow  share, 
And  for  his  wants  provide  your  thought  and  care  ? 
Where  do  you  live  ?     What  land  gave  you  your  birth  ? 
How  came  you  here  upon  this  toiling  earth  ? 
To  none  owest  thou  a  debt  of  love  or  gold, 
And  naught  to  give  for  all  this  wealth  untold  ? 
Then  go  to  climes  where  sun  nor  star  shall  glow, 
Where  tempests  blow  and  drifting  falls  the  snow  ; 
And  where  no  plow  has  tilled  the  blooming  land, 
And  no  soft  winds  the  dewy  meadows  fanned  ; 
Where  balmy  air  and  fragrant  flowers  are  none, 
And  no  sweet  streamlets  to  their  rivers  run  ; 
Where  patriots  lived  not,  and  human  love  is  hate — 
Then  come  and  of  thy  rights  and  pleasures  prate  ! 
Let  praise  ascend  to  God  !    He  gave  us  birth, 
And  planned  our  homes  upon  this  blooming  earth  ; 


TEMPERANCE  ADDRESS.  47 

He  gave  the  cattle  on  the  thousand  hills, 

And  for  their  thirst  the  waters  of  the  rills. 

He  gave  us  prophets  wise  whose  tongues  were  flames, 

And  patriots  whose  words  have  carved  their  names 

Where  liberty  sits  and  with  uplifted  hand, 

Now  sways  her  sceptre  o'er  a  mighty  land. 

He  gives  us  fields,  and  rain  and  falling  dew, 

And  meadows  wide  with  streamlets  running  through. 

He  made  the  law — the  hands  alone  that  toil 

The  harvest  reap  that  cheers  the  teeming  soil ; 

That  he  best  lives  who  others  aids  ;  the  rain 

The  sky  shall  weep,  the  sun  returns  again  : 

And  he  that  takes  from  other  hands  their  chains 

Unclasps  some  habit  that  his  soul  enchains  ; 

Who  lifts  unto  his  brother's  lips  the  cup, 

On  nectar  lives  and  with  the  angels  sup  ; 

Who  pours  the  oil  of  joy  in  others'  hearts, 

Unto  his  own  a  holier  joy  imparts. 

Each  dollar,  too,  we  give  for  Love's  sweet  sakes, 

Enriches  most  the  soul  that  gives,  not  takes. 

And  there  are  those,  though  rich,  yet  still  in  need, 

And  those  we  now  call  poor,  yet  rich  indeed ; 

The  one  may  own  the  land  where  he  may  lie, 

The  other  owns  the  landscape  and  the  sky. 

And  there  are  those  whose  heads  and  hearts  agree, 

Though  rich  in  gold  yet  rich  in  grace  may  be. 


To-night,  beyond  the  mountain — by  the  sea, 
Encamped  in  tents  our  noble  armies  see  ; 
Another  cry  still  calls  us  to  the  fight, 
Yet  not  to  carnage,  but  for  truth  and  right ; 


48  TEMPERANCE  ADDRESS. 

Around  our  souls  our  milk-white  tents  to  rear, 

And  angel  guides  to  be  forever  near ; 

When'er  the  tempter  comes  with  winning  smiles 

And  with  his  arts  the  willing  heart  beguiles, 

To  dash  the  cup,  to  free  the  captive  hand, 

And  bless  again  our  own,  our  stricken  land. 

And  then  another  corner-stone*  we'll  lay 

In  hope  and  trusting  for  a  better  day  ; 

Now  one  by  one  the  noble  walls  arise, 

And  catch  the  lustre  of  the  bending  skies  ; 

Fair  Eden  blooms,  the  flaming  swords  dissolve, 

And  heavenward  swells  the  high  resolve  : 

No  more  we'll  pass  the  wine  cup  round  to  sip, 

Or  lift  the  sparkling  liquid  to  our  lip. 

We'll  strive  for  man,  for  those  who  weary  roam, 

And  seek  to  bring  the  lost,  the  erring  home. 

The  happy  pairs  return  in  peace  again, 

Again  begins  on  earth  the  heavenly  reign  ; 

For  where  fair  Temperance  springs  there  comes  each 

grace, 

Truth,  Love,  in  turn  Religion  bless  the  race  ; 
Along  the  blooming  banks  the  streams  pass  by, 
And  mirror  back  their  own,  their  native  sky. 


Hail !  brothers,  hail !  who  nightly  crowd  this  hall, 
Who  nobly  come  and  stand  at  duty's  call, 
Whose  beacon  towers  o'er  the  tossing  wave, 
Whose  motto  is,  We  battle  but  to  save  ! 


*  The  Dashaway  Association  had  just  laid  the  corner-stone  of  their  new 
edifice. 


TEMPERANCE  ADDRESS.  49 

Is  Temperance  good  ?     Go  ask  the  man  the  charm — 
Whose  Master's  voice  restored  his  withered  arm  ; 
Go  ask  the  lame  he  made  to  walk  upright ; 
The  blind,  his  touch  restored  to  health  and  sight ; 
Then  ask  what  power  gave  truth  and  love  their  birth, 
And  spread  their  fame  throughout  the  waiting  earth. 


In  yonder  isle  that. gems  the  distant  sea, 
Ascends  a  soul  that  made  the  bondman  free  ;* 
'Tis  said,  as  now  he  seeks  the  spirit-land, 
He  bears  a  million  shackles  in  his  hand. 
What  signs  of  triumph  shalt  thou  meekly  bear  ? 
What  cross  of  noble  toil,  what  crown  of  care  ? 
When  thou  before  the  Lord  of  love  shalt  go, 
What  deeds  recite,  what  victories  shall  show  ? 
Go  seek  some  gold  in  earth  still  buried  deep, 
Some  crystal  gems  that  still  in  silence  sleep, 
And  make  a  casket  fit  for  angels'  eyes, 
To  bear  thy  gift  when  thou  shalt  seek  the  skies. 
In  it  with  prayer  thy  sacred  gift  now  place, 
A  human  heart  restored,  to  bless  our  race. 
'Twill  bear  thee  up  above  the  darksome  wave — 

IN  SAVING  OTHERS  THOU  THYSELF  SHALT  SAVE  ! 

*  Wilberforce. 


JO  THE   OAK  AND   VINE. 


THE  OAK  AND  VINE. 

A   FABLE. 

A     LITTLE  vine  an  acorn  met 
•**•  That  just  began  to  grow ; 
And  said  to  him,  "  Be  not  an  oak, 
But  be  a  vine  so  low. 


"  Lift  not  thy  head  in  sinful  pride 

To  yonder  jeweled  sky, 
But  dwell  on  earth  an  humble  thing, 
And  own  the  One  most  high. 


"  Oh  !  put  not  forth  thy  branches  strong, 

And  brave  his  sovereign  power, 
But  be  a  vine  whose  dewy  flowers 
Embalm  the  passing  hour. 


"  And  seek  some  humble  nook  to  dwell, 

And  climb  some  lowly  wall, 
To  be  a  graceful  vine  like  me, 
And  not  a  tree  so  tall." 


The  acorn  would  not  hear  the  vine, 

And  grew  a  stately  oak, 
And  lived  to  smile  upon  the  storm 

And  brave  each  lightning  stroke. 


THE  OAK  AND   VINE.  5  I 

The  traveller  often  stopped,  and  'neath 

His  branches  weary  sunk, 
And  e'en  the  vine  I  found  one  day 

Entwining  round  his  trunk. 

The  old  stone  wall,  that  long  had  been 

Her  simple  humble  stay, 
Had  crumbled  'neath  the  touch  of  time, 

And  mouldered  into  clay. 

All  torn  and  bleeding  then  the  vine 

Was  waving  in  the  air, 
The  wind  was  sporting  by  in  mirth 

All  heedless  of  her  prayer. 

At  length  she  humbly  sought  the  oak, 

And  twined  her  garland  braid, 
And  found  protection  in  his  strength, 

And  beauty  in  his  shade. 

She  little  knew  the  living  Soul, 

In  whom  we  raise  our  hymn, 
That  he  who  truly  trusts  himself 

Most  truly  trusts  in  Him. 
1852. 


52  RE  VERIE. 


REVERIE. 

T'M  blest  with  life  ;  joy  fills  my  veins 
•*•    As  do  their  brimming  founts  the  rains 
That  overflow  the  hills  and  plains. 

I'm  blest  with  thought ;  a  soul  to  see 
Each  varied  truth  and  harmony 
That  blooms  alike  for  you  and  me. 

I'm  blest  with  friends  ;  to  whom  I  look, 
As  blossoms  rest  in  some  sweet  nook 
Upon  the  bosom  of  a  brook. 

I  have  a  home  to  which  to  fly, 
That  e'er  is  imaged  in  my  eye  ; 
Oh  !  had  but  all  such  homes  as  I  ! 

And  thoughts  I  have  ;  a  fond  ideal, 

Where  blight  ne'er  comes,  nor  thieves  may  steal, 

And  though  unseen,  for  that  more  real ! 

All  nature  on  me  waits  and  yields 

Her  gift  of  flowers,  of  stream,  and  fields, 

And  all  my  cares  and  doubting  heals. 

Nor  less  to  me  her  love  she  shows, 
That  unto  all  her  blessing  flows  ; 
For  each,  for  all,  her  blossom  grows. 


IN  A    VALLEY  SWEET  AND  LOWLY.  53 

And  when  in  grief  I  hear  a  call, 
God's  own  right  arm  will  save  my  fall, 
Can  bear  me  up,  my  cross,  and  all ! 

And  though  I  live  on  land  or  sea, 
As  God  loves  all,  he  so  loves  me, 
And  thus  his  love  has  set  me  free  ! 


IN    A   VALLEY  SWEET   AND    LOWLY. 

TN  a  valley  sweet  and  lowly, 
*•     Glides  a  streamlet  on  its  way  ; 
There  it  murmurs  rich  and  slowly, 
Half  in  thought  and  half  in  play. 

On  the  bosom  of  that  streamlet, 

Dancing  on  the  crystal  wave, 
Come  the  flowers,  and  by  its  margin 

Birds  retreat  to  sing  and  lave. 

Rills  from  mossy  rocks  and  fountains, 
Trickling  down  the  mountain's  side, 

Waltzing  come  with  rhythmic  footsteps, 
Feeding  there  the  crystal  tide. 

And  the  clouds  that  hover  over 
Drop  a  blessing  on  the  stream  ; 

On  the  grass  and  scented  clover, 
Drinking:  music  from  its  dream. 


ISABEL. 

Still  the  stream  doth  tarry  never, 
Gliding  on  through  dell  and  plain  ; 

For  unthinking,  bent  on  duty, 

Comes  the  dew  and  comes  the  rain. 

And  at  night  the  stars  do  bless  it 
From  the  blue  that  they  enshrine, 

Where  above  they  come  and  sparkle 

And  its  breast  they  undershine. 
1852. 


ISABEL. 

XT7E  met  one  eve  ;  I  saw  her  leaning  there, 

As  to  my  sight  her  form  is  pictured  now  : 
In  silken  folds  her  rich  and  flowing  hair 

Hung  trailing  down  her  gently  shaded  brow ; 
Her  head  reclining  "on  a  naked  arm, 

A  drooping  bud  upon  its  rose-like  stem  ; 
Her  eyes,  half-closed,  concealed  their  inward  charm 

Beneath  the  blue  within  their  fringe-like  hem. 

A  moment  more,  I  clasped  her  jeweled  hand, 

And  drank  the  sunshine  of  her  flashing  eye, 
And  saw,  within  the  sweet  and  dream-like  land, 

The  star-like  thoughts  that  gemmed  her  dewy  sky. 
My  throbbing  heart,  a  bird  of  fluttering  wing, 

Beat  wildly  'gainst  its  warm  and  prisoned  breast ; 
For  such  is  Love,  a  sweet  yet  fearful  thing, 

E'en  while  we  linger  round  its  downy  nest. 


ISABEL.  55 

Like  tAvo  sweet  stars  that  dew-like  flow  in  one, 
And  blend  the  beauty  of  each  falling  ray, 

That  'mid  the  changes  of  the  sky  and  sun 
Go  gayly  waltzing  through  their  milky-way  ; 

Thus  linked  in  twain,  their  joys  and  griefs  the  same, 
All  other  loves,  Love  teaching  them  to  shun, 

Whose  orbed-like  hearts  the  passers-by  exclaim, 
"  These  are  not  two — they  seem  to  us  but  one  !" 


So  passed  the  hours  as  with  each  joy  and  fear, 

With  trembling  hand  I  led  my  captive  bird, 
And  in  more  free  and  sweet  familiar  cheer 

The  flutterings  ceased  that  first  her  presence  stirred. 
In  converse  free,  our  joys  and  hopes  the  same, 

The  hours  sped  by  without  a  thought  or  care, 
While  other  lips  had  dared  to  speak  a  name 

That  by  her  lisped  another  would  she  bear  ! 


There  is  a  time  for  flowers  to  drop  away, 

When  stars  must  fade  before  the  gazer's  eye, 
When  on  the  hills  must  rest  the  parting  ray 

That  falls  like  crimson  from  the  pensive  sky  ; 
And  so  the  parting  hour  must  come  to  all, 

The  hush  that  marks  the  close  of  harmony ; 
Yet  like  two  rose  leaves  that  together  fall, 

So  sweet,  yet  sadly,  came  that  hour  to  me. 
1850. 


56  THE  HEART  AND  ITS  ANGEL. 


THE  HEART  AND  ITS  ANGEL. 

THE  Heart  awaits  its  Angel 
To  lead  it  to  the  Right, 
Who  knows  its  secret  windings, 
We  all  would  see  the  light. 


In  prison-house  of  bondage 
While  we  in  darkness  dwell. 

We  long  for  some  sweet  morrow 
To  light  our  gloomy  cell. 

We  look  from  out  our  windows 
To  catch  its  first  faint  rays  ; 

The  morn  that  melts  its  gratings 
And  round  our  spirit  plays. 

We  oft  away  would  wander 
As  birds  upon  their  wing, 

As  swallows  round  us  hover 
When  joy  awakes  the  spring. 

We  long  for  that  bright  morrow, 
To  crown  this  struggling  life  ; 

Oh  !  come  to  us,  our  Angel — 

Our  Poet,  Teacher,  Wife  ! 
1830. 


JENNY  LIND.  57 


JENNY   LIND. 

\     SONG  for  thee,  sweet  Nightingale  !  thy  hand  the 
-^"*-         harp  hast  swept 
On  which,  through  ages  past,  the  cherub  harmonies  had 

slept, 
Waiting  a  hand  whose  magic  strings  would  yield  to  its 

control, 
For  every  strain  the  harp  awakes  reveals  the  hidden 

soul. 


O  world  within,  that  lies  between  our  souls  and  God's 

above, 
Whose  beams  are  laid  in  music  and  whose  dome  is 

arched  in  Love, 
'Tis  thine,  sweet   Nightingale,  to   lisp,  interpret  into 

song 
The  thoughts  that  fill  its  palaces,  and  to  that  world 

belong. 


When  some  sweet  bird  the  summer  brings  enlivens 

groves  and  fields, 
We  know  the  clime  that  gave  it  birth,  the  beauty  that  it 

yields  ; 
We  hear  the  summer  in  its  song,  and  from  its  dewy 

wing 
There  drops  the  fragrance  of  the  flowers  that  there  are 

blossoming. 


58  HATTIE   TO  CHARLES. 

So  doth  thy  song  reveal  the  world  that  round  thy  spirit 

lies, 
That  gushes  forth  in  melody  and  glimmers   through 

thine  eyes ; 
Thou  bring'st  us  glimpses  here,  to  these  low  vales  in 

which  we  dwell, 
Of  life  within  and  life  beyond,  no  other  lips  may  tell. 


"  \V  elcome,  sweet  Nightingale  !   for  thee  our  waiting 

hearts  are  bowers  !" 
Is   now  the  voice  that  greets  thee  from  these  sweet 

homes  of  ours  ; 
To  lands  of  snow  nor  lands  of  fruit  dost  thou  alone 

belong, 
All  hearts  and  tongues  now  blend  in  one,  to  hail  thee — 

Queen  of  Song  ! 
1849. 


WHAT    HATTIE    ' 

MAY    BE     SUPPOSED    TO   SAY    ON    THE    EVE    OF     HER 
MARRIAGE  ! 

TT  was  for  thee  I  left  my  native  shore, 
•  •*•  And  friends  and  home  that  meet  my  sight  no  more  ; 
The  foaming  waves,  the  restless  tide  and  sea 
Were  naught  to  tempt  my  heart  away  from  thee. 


LINES. 


59 


Though  billows  rolled — the  sun  refused  its  rays, 
Swift  sped  the  hours  and  golden  sped  the  days  ; 
For  love  had  painted  bright  the  darkest  sky, 
And  imaged  thee  where'er  I  turned  my  eye. 


And  now  in  wedlock  bonds  our  hearts  are  bound ; 
The  branch  that  blossomed  long,  with  fruit  is  found  ! 
Transplanted  here,  where  Hesper  led  my  way, 
May  now  our  loves  sjjine  steady  as  its  ray  ! 
Thy  name  I  take — though  hard  to  speak  it  seems, 
It  still  is  linked  with  all  my  fondest  dreams  ;        ^ 
And  what  care  I  though  consonants  are  rife, 
If  known  to  thee  by  that  sweet  name  of — wife  ! 
1859. 


LINES. 

"1T7E  met,  but  for  a  while  ! 

Thy  melting  eyes 
Across  me  flashed  like  rays 
Adown  the  skies. 


I  saw  thee  smile,  a  heaven 
Was  in  that  look  ! 

Thy  voice  the  music  seemed 
Of  some  sweet  brook. 


60  THE  SILVER  LINING. 

But  like  the  star,  that  sank 
Beneath  the  sea, 

A  brook  that  by  us  passed, 
Thou  wert  to  me. 

Am  I  not  better  grown 
Since  then  we  met  ? 

The  good  my  soul  drank  in 
Can  I  forget  ? 

** 

Does  not  the  flower  on  which 
*  Some  star-lit  ray 

Rests  tremblingly,  and  brooks 
Have  sung  their  lay, 

Retain  the  beauty  that 
It  drank  so  free  ? 

That  star  and  brook  wert  thou 

That  smiled  on  me  ! 
1851. 


o 


THE   SILVER   LINING. 

NATURE  fond  !  whose  heart  is  true, 
In  sadness  wrapt,  I  flee  to  you  ! 


Your  green-leafed  trees  and  running  streams 
Shall  lull  my  soul  to  pleasant  dreams. 


THE  SILVER  LINING.  6 1 

Your  lap  I  seek — how  soft  the  bed 
To  weary  limbs  and  aching  head  ! 

Oh  !  speak  to  me  with  voice  so  mild, 
And  lead  me  now,  your  loving  child. 

The  nest  I  sought  the  wind  has  torn, 
And  like  a  bird  of  rest  I'm  shorn. 

I  strive  to  rise,  I  can  not  sing, 
A  bird  I  am  of  broken  wing. 

O  Nature  fond  !  whose  heart  is  true, 
In  sadness  wrapt,  I  flee  to  you  ! 


I  saw  the  sower  sow  his  seed, 

In  faith  the  blade  would  next  proceed  ; 

That  morning  dew  and  falling  rain 
Would  moisten  hill  and  drench  the  plain  ; 

That  sunshine,  too,  the  days  would  bring, 
And  harvest  time  would  follow  spring. 

I  saw  the  dew  the  morning  wept 
That  on  the  lily's  bosom  slept, 

Whose  fragrant  leaves  perfumed  the  air  ; 
It  made  that  lily  far  more  fair 


62  THE  SILVER  LINING. 

Than  all  the  flowers  that  graced  the  plain, 
Which  knew  no  dew  nor  falling  rain. 

And  then  to  Hope  I  gave  my  fears — 
An  angel  whispered  in  my  ears  : 


"  Come  now  in  thought,  and  with  me  range 
The  fields  and  skies,  and  bless  each  change 

"  That  visits  you,  though  friendship's  hand 
Shall  write  her  name  upon  the  sand  ; 

"  Though  'mid  the  darkness  of  the  night, 
The  beacon  stars  refuse  their  light. 

"  For  God  still  lives,  supreme  his  laws  ; 
The  rule  is  his — effects  from  cause. 


"  The  fruit  may  fall  upon  the  plain, 
But  blossoms  come  and  fruit  again  ; 

"  And  flying  southward,  robins  sing, 
After  the  winter  comes  the  spring  ; 

"  And  where  the  fields  are  wrapt  in  snows, 
Some  gentle  hand  shall  pluck  the  rose." 
1858. 


A  FACTORY  VILLAGE  AT  NIGHT.  63 


A   FACTORY   VILLAGE   AT   NIGHT. 

ON  yonder  stream,  a  thousand  lights 
With  silver,  gold,  and  crimson  tipped, 
Danced  gayly  on  its  rippled  breast ; 
The  factory  bell  in  water  dipped, 
Its  tones  pealed  forth  o'er  hill  and  vale, 

And  to  its  loud  and  lengthened  call, 
A  group  appeared  and  filled  each  path 
Around  each  high  and  dusky  wall. 


It  was  a  fairy  scene,  this  life 

Reflected  by  the  colored  beams — 
The  many  forms  that  went  and  came, 

As  figures  come  and  go  in  dreams  ; 
The  lights  that  danced  upon  the  wave, 

The  stars  reflected  from  their  blue, 
The  landscape  wide,  and  towering  walls 

That  there  entranced  me  with  their  view. 


Near  by,  a  plot  of  graves  I  saw, 

That  sloped  beneath  their  moon-lit  shade- 
A  new-made  mound,  and  grass  and  flowers 

Just  tumbled  by  the  sexton's  spade  ; 
And  o'er  this  stranger  grave  I  wept, 

And  all  the  griefs  of  those  that  toil, 
The  many  hopes  that  blossom  here, 

The  lordly  hands  of  time  despoil. 


64  SPRING  AND   CHILDHOOD. 

I  gazed  once  more  ;  the  evening  lights 

Had  faded  from  that  fairy  scene, 
And  naught  was  heard  except  the  wail 

Of  that  sweet  stream  that  rolled  between  ; 
As  though  it  held  within  its  breast 

The  griefs  the  walls  had  imaged  there, 
And  pouring  them  in  low  complaint, 

So  sadly  to  the  listening  air. 
1849. 


SPRING  AND   CHILDHOOD. 

/~\LD  Winter,  with  his  blighting  blasts  and  chills, 
^^  Has  gone  at  last,  and  o'er  the  fields-and  hills 
Has  gathered  up  his  flowing  robes,  that  hid 
The  grass  and  flowers  beneath  his  icy  lid  ; 
And  now  the  fields  with  verdure  start  anew, 
And  ancient  streams  their  solemn  chants  renew, 
While  from  their  darkened  homes  the  plants  look  up, 
And  on  their  stems  engraft  their  dewy  cup- 
That  vestal  urn  in  whose  baptismal  dew 
Is  orbed  the  image  of  its  native  blue  ; 
The  birds  with  music  fill  the  listening  wood, 
And  trickling  rills  invade  the  solitude  ; 
The  youthful  year  now  greets  the  smiling  earth, 
And  countless  buds  are  bursting  into  birth. 

Thus  spring  and  childhood  clasp  each  willing  hand, 
And  rhyming  go  throughout  the  dewy  land. 


MY  CHILDHOOD'S  HOME.  65 

Mark  how  the  dust  and  stains  the  earth  had  worn 

Now  disappear  beneath  this  vernal  morn  ; 

Where  blood  had  flown,  and  war  and  carnage  rife, 

No  blade  is  left  to  tell  the  angry  strife  ; 

No  wind  has  tarried  long  the  tale  to  tell 

To  listening  founts  and  fairy  woods  and  dell ; 

But  on  their  stems,  beneath  baptismal  snow, 

The  Spring's  young  buds  and  fresher  blossoms  grow. 

So  childhood  comes — perpetual  springs  unfold  ; 

Go  bring  your  myrrh,  your  frankincense  and  gold  ! 

1849. 


MY   CHILDHOOD'S    HOME. 

HOW  fondly  yet  I  look  to  thee, 
My  old  paternal  home  ! 
Though  oft  my  feet  may  wander  far, 

My  heart  can  never  roam  : 
For  shall  the  flower  forget  the  seed  ? 

The  bird  forget  its  nest  ? 
Then  how  can  I  forget  the  roof 
So  imaged  in  my  breast  ? 

How  oft  in  twilight's  pensive  hour 
And  in  the  busy  street, 


66  MY  CHILDHOOD'S  HOME. 

I'm  thinking  of  my  childhood's  home 
I  pattered  with  my  feet ! 

And  then  I  am  a  boy  once  more, 
A  boy  of  tearless  eye  ; 

My  father  was  my  playmate  then, 
As  much  a  child  as  I. 


Ah  !  well  do  I  remember  too 

The  songs  he  used  to  sing, 
To  shed  the  sunshine  round  my  heart 

Where  now  sweet  memories  cling  ! 
And  how  he  used  to  speak  of  home 

When  once  he  was  a  boy — 
The  thoughts  he  had,  the  things  he  did, 

His  tales  of  grief  and  joy  ; 


Until  the  tear  within  his  eye, 

That  toward  the  Past  was  turned, 
Did  nurse  within  my  heart  the  love 

That  in  his  bosom  burned. 
The  homestead  old,  the  cherry  tree, 

His  childhood's  happy  dreams  ; 
The  old  stone  well,  the  village  school, 

Were  then  my  father's  themes. 


And  well  do  I  remember  too 
The  love  I  used  to  share, 

When  such  a  tiny  boy  I  was — 
My  mother's  only  care. 


MY  CHILDHOOD'S  HOME.  67 

How  'neath  her  love  I  shelter  found, 

As  'neath  an  angel's  wing, 
And  how  she  nursed  my  hopes,  that  then 

Began  their  blossoming. 

And  how  unconscious  by  their  love 

Each  thought  and  feeling  grew, 
Twin  flowers  that  bloom  within  the  soul 

An  unity  in  two  ! 
And  when  to  manhood  I  had  grown, 

I  saw  her  honest  joy 
In  gazing  on  the  future  sky 

That  dawned  upon  her  boy  ! 

How  in  the  garden  of  their  love 

New  flowers  inhaled  the  light, 
New  sharers  of  our  household  joys 

Where  all  before  was  bright ; 
But  two  of  them  are  gone  before, 

A  little  bud  and  rose, 
Transplanted  in  the  spirit-land 

Where  God's  own  river  flows. 

How  fondly  yet  I  look  to  thee, 

My  old  paternal  home  ! 
Though  oft  my  feet  may  wander  far, 

My  heart  can  never  roam  ; 
For  shall  the  flower  forget  its  seed  ? 

The  bird  forget  its  nest  ? 
Then  how  can  I  forget  the  roof 

So  imaged  in  my  breast  ? 
1851. 


68  THE  POET. 


THE   POET. 


not  the  Poet's  gift  is  vain, 
And  paints  as  things  unreal, 
What  has  no  being  but  in  thought, 
In  fancy's  fair  Ideal. 

There's  naught  in  Thought,  how  bright  so  e'er 

The  thought  within  doth  gleam, 
But  shall  in  greater  splendor  rise 

Than  any  fairy  dream  ! 

The  poet's  gift  is  prophecy, 

By  inspiration  sealed  ; 
He  knows  the  thoughts  the  lilies  teach, 

And  which  the  streamlets  yield. 

Each  bird  that  pours  its  carols  out 

Within  its  shelt'ring  trees, 
Each  flower  that  with  its  dewy  lip 

Doth  kiss  the  South-  Land  breeze  ; 

The  rains  and  dew,  the  rill  and  cloud 

That  overhang  the  skies, 
Bear  some  sweet  message  to  his  heart, 

Or  beauty  to  his  eyes. 

Like  tree  or  vine  that  treasure  up 
The  dew  within  their  shoots, 


GOD  SPEED    THE  PLOW i  69 

And  breathe  their  poems  in  their  flowers, 
And  in  their  rhyming  fruits  ; 

The  spirit,  too,  may  flower  as  well 

As  vine,  or  plant,  or  tree  ; 
That  flowering  is  its  peaceful  thoughts 

It  breathes  in  poesy  ! 

To  know  the  poet's  gift,  when  true, 

Go  ask  the  bird  or  tree, 
The  texture  makes  the  leaf  or  flower, 

Foretells  the  melody. 

In  Wisdom's  soil  his  thoughts  must  grow, 

And  nursed  by  Love  each  hour, 
Till  dew  and  sunshine  blend  in  one 

And  form  within  the  flower. 

Thus  thought  in  God  expands  in  worlds, 

Deny  it  those  who  can  ! 
And  poems  all  are  trees  and  flowers, 

Th'  unfolded  soul  of  man. 
1850. 


GOD   SPEED   THE   PLOW  ! 


A 


LIFE  amid  the  fields, 
What  noble  joys  it  yields 
To  those  who  toil ! 


70  GOD  SPEED   THE  PLOW  I 

Who  love  the  spreading  tree, 
The  growing  corn  to  see — • 

The  teeming  soiL 

How  sweet  the  fields  appear 
In  all  the  varied  year — 

The  tender  shoot : 
The  new-mown  scented  hay, 
Where  robins  skip  and  play, 

The  bud  and  fruit ; 

The  rain  that  fills  the  rills, 
The  sheep  upon  the  hills 

That  tread  the  maze  ; 
And  in  the  peaceful  shade, 
By  spreading  branches  made, 

Where  cattle  graze. 

Oh  !  who  so  rich  as  he 
With  heart  by  toil  set  free, 

The  farmer's  lot  ? 
Where  want  and  wasting  care 
Raise  not  their  wailing  there, 

Within  his  cot. 

Then  welcome  plow  and  toil, 
A  life  upon  the  soil — 

The  dew-stained  brow ! 
Their  joys  our  lips  will  tell, 
Once  more  the  chorus  swell, 

"  God  speed  the  plow !" 
1849. 


TO  DORA.  71 


TO    DORA. 


CHILD  of  a  sunny  brow  ! 
Whose  glossy  hair 
Is  of  the  golden  hue 
Our  autumns  wear  ! 


So  full  of  innocence 

Thy  looks  bespeak, 
The  angels'  breath  seems  still 

Upon  thy  cheek. 

Thy  eye  reveals  its  home, 

As  does  the  dew, 
For  its  sweet  heaven  is  seen 

Within  its  blue. 

Thy  heart  is  like  a  stream, 

(So  pure  thy  days,) 
On  whose  translucent  breast 

The  lily  plays. 

How  near  is  heaven  to  thee, 

Sweet  child  of  ours  ! 
As  near  the  budding  stems 
•  Are  to  the  flowers  ! 


1648. 


72 


LOVE  vs.  WEALTH. 


LOVE  vs.  WEALTH. 

MARRY  not  for  wealth, 
Whate'er  thy  lot ; 
For  gold  is  but  pelf 
Where  love  is  not. 

Stoop  thou  not  to  take 
A  princess'  hand, 

If  not  for  thy  sake 
She'll  by  thee  stand. 

And  take  thou  the  maid 
Unto  thy  breast, 

Whose  true  worth  has  made 
Her  name  caressed. 

Marry  thou  for  love, 

By  truth  be  led  ; 
Toil  and  look  above 

For  daily  bread. 
1859. 


ASPIRATIONS. 

OUR  thoughts  rush  up  like  fountains 
To  greet  their  native  sky ; 
Like  spray -drops  round  their  margin 
That  on  the  blossoms  lie, 


THE   CROSS.  73 


They  oft  return  to  nourish 
Some  half-blown  bursting  hope, 

And  give  the  soul  a  better, 
A  sweeter,  wider  scope. 


And  though  through  failing  reached  not 
The  home  they  sought — the  skies, 

We  see  between  the  spray-drops 

The  bow,  expanded,  rise. 
1854. 


THE   CROSS. 

BY  THIS   CONQUER. 

T  T  7HEN  storms  assail,  and  darkness  smites  the 

soul  ; 

When  stars  refuse  their  light,  and  billows  roll ; 
When  every  cloud  an  angry  look  shall  wear, 
And  every  breeze  shall  speak  of  wild  despair, 
.  By  this  conquer. 


When  round  thy  soul  the  tempter's  chain  is  thrown, 
And  in  thy  thoughts  the  seeds  of  strife  are  sown, 
If  then  thou  would'st  thy  struggling  spirit  free, 
One  look  cast  thou  upon  the  smitten  tree. 

By  this  conquer. 


74  ALL  ARE  HERE. 

When  faithless  friends  shall  turn  from  thee  away, 
And  gentle  eyes  no  longer  cheer  tjiy  way, 
Turn  thou  to  Christ ;  and  at  his  friendly  call, 
Thy  tears  shall  cease,  thy  weary  burden  fall. 

By  this  conquer. 

When  want  and  care  sit  lonely  by  thy  side, 
And  doubt  and  trouble  all  thy  thoughts  betide  ; 
Then  to  the  cross,  if  thou  shalt  turn  thy  face, 
Thy  grief  shall  vanish  in  that  sweet  embrace. 

By  this  conquer.  , 

Its  tranquil  light  shall  gladden  every  hour  ; 
The  burdened  soul  shall  own  its  healing  power  ; 
And  when  the  angels  beckon  from  the  sky, 
Its  beams  alone  can  cheer  the  closing  eye. 

By  this  conquer. 

'855- 


ALL  ARE   HERE. 

E  flowers  have  come,  the  grass  creeps  up  the 

hills, 

And  paints  the  valleys  with  their  living  green  ; 
While  dawning  day  each  opening  blossom  fills 
With  sacred  dew  that  night  has  wept  unseen. 


The  maiden  to  her  garden  goes  this  morn, 
And  finds  the  buds  that  bloom  in  sweet  surprise  ; 


EPITAPH.  75 

Lo  here,  where  once  her  bordered  plot  was  shorn, 
Her  well-remembered  plants  in  beauty  rise. 

Now  all  are  here,  though  some  on  withered  stems 
Did  lowly  bow  their  drooping  heads  and  die  ; 

How  meekly  now  they  wear  their  diadems 
And  greet  the  sunlight  with  rejoicing  eye  ! 

And  as  she  names  the  blossoms  as  they  ope, 
And  spread  their  new-born  beauty  to  her  eyes, 

She  hears  the  voices  of  the  angel,  Hope, 
And  thinks  of  those  transplanted  in  the  skies. 
1854- 


EPITAPH.    ' 

'  I  "*HE  body  is  the  House 
-*•       In  which  we  live, 
Which  to  the  Earth,  in  Death 
We  freely  give. 

And  death  is  but  the  Gate 

Of  Destiny, 
A  Triumph- Arch,  through  which 

Our  Heaven  we  see. 

Most  precious  Dust,  O  Earth  ! 

Is  this  we  yield, 
That  'neath  thy  grass  and  flowers 

Thy  love  may  shield. 


'6  LINES. 

And  while  in  Temples  fair 
Our  hopes  find  rest, 

We'll  write  our  Faith  in  flowers 
Upon  his  breast. 

As  while  the  rain-drops  fall 

The  bow  appears, 
The  Pearly  Gates  are  seen 

Through  falling  tears. 
1849. 


LINES. 

T  LOVED  thee,  like  a  timid  fawn 

•*-  That  nestled  on  my  breast, 

Which  sought  its  shelter  from  the  storm, 

From  tumult  and  unrest ; 
Thou  hadst  no  thought  I  did  not  know — 

For  none  thou  hidd'st  from  me, 
And  not  a  thought  within  me  rose, 

I  could  not  speak  to  thee. 

And  yet  we  seldom  spoke  our  love, 

Unless  the  eyes  can  speak  ; 
Those  dewy  orbs  of  mellow  light, 

That  glistened  on  thy  cheek. 
How  oft  thereto  I've  turned  my  heart, 

As  upward  to  a  star, 
From  which  thy  soul  seems  beaming  through, 

A  torch-light  from  afar. 


LINES. 

Those  orbs,  how  still  and  silent  now, 

That  once  in  beauty  rolled, 
That  heart  that  beat  beneath  thy  breast, 

How  tranquil  and  how  cold  ! 
The  dew  of  death  is  on  thy  lip, 

And  mantles  on  thy  brow, 
And  all  the  scenes  that  fancy  wrought, 

Have  faded  from  me  now. 


Green  be  the  grass  that  lowly  bends 

Above  thy  silent  bed, 
And  soft  the  winds  that  kiss  the  flowers 

That  bloom  around  thy  head  ; 
While  oft  in  thought  my  heart  will  roam, 

Where  love  and  sorrow  meet ; 
And  seek  thee  in  the  violets'  breath, 

That  blossom  at  thy  feet. 


And  see  thee  in  the  silent  stars, 

With  chaste  and  beaming  eyes, 
And  hear  thy  footsteps  when  the  dew 

Is  falling  from  the  skies. 
All  beauteous  things  shall  speak  of  thee, 

Because  to  thee  allied, 
And  where  fond  mem'ry  builds  her  tent, 

I  will  with  thee  abide. 
1845. 


77 


78  LEBANON  SPRINGS. 


LEBANON   SPRINGS. 

T  TOW  sweet  are  the  waters   that  gush   from  the 
•*•  •*•  mountain, 

And,  gliding  in  streamlets  around  the  green  earth, 
Bear  freshness  and  verdure  to  hill-side  and  valley. 

And  give  to  the  flowerets  their  beauty  and  birth  ; 
How  sweet  round  the  green  mossy  fountain  to  linger, 

As  sparkle  its  waters  with  many  a  beam, 
The  nectar  to  quaff  of  the  dew- laden  vessel, 

Of  diamonds  that  melt  in  the  sweet  flowing  stream. 

The  invalid  lies  on  their  pearly  gemmed  bosom, 

And  plunges  his  form  in  the  pure  crystal  wave, 
And  sports  like  a  dolphin  with  life-giving  motion, 

As  over  his  bosom  the  pure  waters  lave  ; 
He  rises  refreshed  like  the  sun  from  the  ocean, 

And  gives  to  the  streamlet  each  bitter  wrung  tear, 
He  clambers  the  hill-side  with  newness  of  being, 

And  bounds  o'er  the  fields  like  a  fleet-footed  deer. 

The  bright  cherubs  of  health  have  moved  on  the  waters, 

And  in  their  pavilions  have  fixed  their  abode  ; 
The  multitudes  throng  them  and  leave  their  diseases, 

And  throw  from  their  shoulders  their  cumbersome 

load. 
At  noon  and  at  evening  the  roadside  is  filling 

With  strangers  and  pilgrims  from  many  a  shore, 
Who  flock  to  the  waters  with  joy  overflowing, 

As  multitudes  flocked  to  Bethesda  of  yore. 


THE  ANGEL  HAND.  79 

How  sweet  o'er  the  hills,  their  proud  summit  ascending, 

To  gaze  on  the  valley  that  slumbers  below, 
And  see  the  loved  spot  that  in  beauty  reposes, 

Where  twining  in  garlands  the. pure  waters  flow. 
I  see  it  e'en  now,  and  I  think  with  emotion 

The  joy  it  then  brought  to  my  deep  swelling  breast, 
The  friends  and  the  maidens  who  there  gathered  round 
me, 

Of  the  thousands  of  earth  the  choicest  and  best. 

My  walks   in   the    glen,    by   the    stream   that  winds 
through  it, 

The  green  shaded  cot  at  the  foot  of  the  hill, 
Where  embosomed  with  flowers,  it  smiles  on  the  valley, 

And  looks  with  delight  on  its  neighboring  rill ; 
The  view  from  my  window  that  gazed  on  the  mountain, 

The  feelings  of  sadness  that  caused  me  to  part, 
How  well  I  remember,  like  scenes  of  my  childhood, 

As  visions  of  beauty  that  visit  my  heart. 

1844. 


THE   ANGEL   HAND.  . 

TN  every  joy  there  is  a  pain, 
•*•  In  every  rose  a  thorn ; 
But  still  the  brightest  rose  we  see, 
Beneath  a  cloud  is  born. 

By  rain  and  dew  and  smiles  of  day, 
The  earth  is  made  more  bright, 


80  THE  INNER  MANSION. 

And  clearer  are  the  twinkling  stars 
That  gem  the  darkest  night. 

.    Then  let  me  fold  my  heart  in  peace, 

And  take  the  bitter  cup, 
Then  shall  I  see  the  angel  hand, 
And  with  the  angels  sup. 

When  wintry  thoughts  will  chill  my  heart, 

Let  this  afford  relief, 
That  He  who  warms  the  earth  with  snow, 

Can  calm  the  soul  with  grief. 
1850. 


THE   INNER   MANSION. 

THE  heart  hath  chambers  fair, 
A  mansion  fair  to  greet, 
And  many  things  are  there 
To  make  the  scene  complete. 

The  walls  sweet  pictures  grace, 
And  landscapes  grand  to  see, 

And  many  an  absent  face, 
All  dear  to  memory. 

And  niches,  too,  you'll  find, 
My  household  gods  to  hold, 

With  garlands  round  them  twined, 
The  seers  and  bards  of  old  ; 


THE  INNER  MANSION.  %\ 

And  paintings  of  the  real 

Adorn  each  room  and  hall, 
With  fancy's  fair  ideal 

And  rainbow  over  all  ! 

A  garden,  too,  I  own, 

A  vine  to  shelter  me, 
And  flowers — some  newly  blown, 

Sweet  flowers  of  poesy  ! 

Rich  fields  in  which  to  roam, 

And  many  a  mountain  path, 
Lie  smiling  round  my  home — 

This  Inner-Country  hath. 

I  love  through  field  and  hall 

To  hold  a  silent  walk, 
As  voices  round  me  fall, 

When  with  the  past  I  talk. 

Oh  !  then  it  comes  to  me 

How  once  I  was  a  boy, 
When  time  so  sportively 

Filled  my  young  breast  with  joy ; 

When  life  was  free  and  blithesome 

As  ever  robin  sings, 
And  sorrow  came  as  lightsome 

As  dew  upon  its  wings. 


82  A  PARADOX. 

These  childhood  scenes  are  all 
In  pictures  graven  there, 

Rich  tableaux  on  the  wall, 
My  childhood's  pictured  prayer  ! 


And  what  if  life  has  failed 
To  make  this  picture  real  ? 

In  prophecy  is  hailed 
A  richer  far  Ideal ! 


Thus  sunshine  from  above 
Plays  gently  on  the  floor, 

While  Hope  and  Faith  and  Love 
Are  angels  at  the  door. 


A   PARADOX. 

\  BROODING  sadness  o'er  me  steals  — 
•*•*•  A  cloud  that  hides  me  from  the  blue, 
And  all  the  crystal  stars  conceals, 
From  my  upturned  and  longing  view. 


A  dismal  night  engulfs  my  soul 
Of  doubt,  uncertainty  and  care, 

And  thoughts  beyond  its  sweet  control, 
While  closed  seem  all  the  gates  of  prayer. 


A    TRIBUTE.  83 

For,  ling'ring  there,  my  orphaned  thoughts 
Stand  knocking,  seeming  all  in  vain, 

Oh  !  when  shall  they,  by  patience  taught, 
Return,  rejoicing,  back  again  ? 

Thus  droops  my  heart  beneath  the  night 
That  fills  this  dark  and  fearful  hour, 

That  comes,  like  falling  snow,  to  blight 
Each  warm,  soft  petal  of  the  flower. 

And  yet  I  know  each  cloud  doth  seek 
A  blessing  for  the  thirsty  land — 

The  olive-branch,  e'en  while  I  speak, 
Doth  bud  and  blossom  in  my  hand. 
1850. 


A   TRIBUTE 

TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  MY  FRIEND  SYDNEY  SOUTH- 
WORTH,  WHO  DIED  AT  SEA,  ON  BOARD  THE  BRIG 
GULNARE,  BOUND  TO  CALIFORNIA. 


'T^HOU  now  art  home,  where  fairer  lands 
-*•     Now  ope  before  thy  wondering  soul, 
Than  those  upon  whose  golden  sands 

Thou  here  didst  seek  to  find  thy  goal  ; 
No  more  does  Hope  delusive  sway 

A  heart  attuned  to  higher  spheres, 
Thy  soul  now  drinks  the  living  ray 

That  turns  to  gems  thy  falling  tears. 


84  A    TRIBUTE. 

Too  pure  wert  thou  for  this  dark  scene, 

To  live  amid  its  strife  and  care, 
Yet  deep  within  its  living  sheen 

Thou  hadst  a  soul  to  do  or  dare. 
Allured  by  Art,  by  Beauty  won, 

Transfigured  by  the  Future's  sky, 
A  voice  within  did  lead  thee  on 

To  where  thy  soul's  sweet  landscapes  lie. 

A  thirst  for  Joy  so  strong  hadst  thou, 

Of  Harmonies  that  never  sleep, 
That  when  the  storm-cloud  made  thee  bow 

Thou  hadst  a  soul  too  proud  to  weep  ; 
And  when  the  world  would  jostle  thee, 

As  though  it  had  for  thee  no  room, 
Thou  still  an  Inner  World  couldst  see 

That  filled  thy  soul  with  sweet  perfume  ;- 

And  thus  with  patience  kept  thy  heart — 

"  The  plant  will  flower  in  its  time, 
Ne'er  from  the  roots  the  blossoms  start, 

All  things  in^life  must  surely  rhyme," 
Thy  soul  wouldst  say,  and  drank  the  cup 

That  sorrow  lifted  to  thy  lip, 
As  brooklets  drink  the  raindrops  up, 

Or  violets  their  dewdrops  sip. 

And  thus  it  seemed  when  on  the  Past 

Thine  eye  looked  back  to  scan  it  o'er, 
"  What  good  it  had  my  soul  now  hast, 
So  in  its  mines  I'll  delve  no  more." 


MY  SPIRIT  BRIDE.  85 

His  soul  was  ripe  for  that  sweet  land 
That  long  had  met  him  in  his  prayer  ; 

Where  wrecks  are  none  upon  the  strand, 
He  finds  his  El  Dorado  there. 

Our  hearts  are  hushed  as  now  we  go 

Where  by  his  side  the  billows  lave, 
And  as  all  solemnly  and  slow 

They  pillow  him  beneath  the  wave  ; 
And  yet  in  faith  we  look  above 

And  listen  not  old  ocean's  moans, 
But  follow  him  on  wings  of  Love 

Where  Hope  keeps  time  with  rhyming  tones. 
1850. 


MY   SPIRIT   BRIDE. 

HOW  sweet  to  feel  around  our  forms 
Love's  pure  white  folded  arms, 
Though  viewless  to  the  outward  eye, 

Yet  all  may  own  her  charms  ! 
She  fills  the  heart  with  gentleness, 

She  makes  our  step  more  free, 
She  makes  the  heart  as  musical 
As  spring-birds  on  the  tree. 

The  earth  grows  brighter  'neath  her  feet, 
And  blooms  where'er  she  goes, 

Where  once  the  barren  desert  was 
Now  smiles  the  garden  rose. 


86  My  SPIRIT  BRIDE. 

My  angel  one  !  I  see  her  now, 

She  e'er  attends  my  soul, 
Though  stars  in  beauty  shine  o'er  me, 

Or  waves  around  me  roll. 

.  I  often  in  my  pensive  moods 

Sit  musing  of  my  Love, 
While  twilight  weaves  her  misty  robes 

And  stars  look  down  above  ; 
I  often  think  her  loving  form 

And  angel  soul  I  see, 
While  fancy  builds  a  rainbow  bridge 

That  bears  her  feet  to  me. 

I  see  her  in  my  waking  hours, 

In  all  the  paths  I've  pressed, 
And  often  feel  her  loving  head 

Reclining  on  my  breast ; 
Her  eyes  are  beaming  on  me  now, 

So  beautiful  and  bright, 
Like  dewy  stars  that  sweetly  glow 

And  cheer  the  sky  at  night. 

I  know  she  lives  and  waits  for  me, 

And  folds  me  to  her  heart — • 
That  naught  the  spirit  here  unites 

The  world  can  ever  part. 
Perhaps  she  dwells  'mong  angel  groups  ; 

E'en  then  I'd  not  repine  : 
On  golden  wings  the  hours  speed  by 

That  bear  my  soul  to  mine. 


TO  WACHUSETT.  37 

I  do  not  feel  alone  on  earth, 

For  I  can  love  her  now, 
And  gently  fold  her  to  my  breast, 

And  press  her  dewy  brow  ; 
And  in  my  darksome  hours  she's  near, 

Is  very  near,  I  know, 
And  scatters  blessings  on  my  soul, 

"  Like  rosebuds  on  the  snow." 
1846. 


TO   WACHUSETT. 

(IN   WINTER.) 

THERE'S  snow  upon  thy  breast, 
Where  blossoms  used  to  be  ; 
The  birds  have  left  their  nest 
And  ceased  their  melody  ; 
Thy  woods  by  wind  are  'reft 

Of  every  bud  and  leaf, 
And  thou  alone  art  left 
To  muse  upon  thy  grief ! 

No  maidens  come  with  flowers, 

No  children  in  their  glee, 
To  cheer  thy  drooping  hours, 

And  climb  around  thy  knee  ! 
Thy  streams  no  music  bring, 

But  all  is  silent  there, 


1845- 


ROSALIE. 

Except  the  trees  that  fling 
Their  naked  arms  in  prayer. 

The  snow's  white  winding-shroud 

Is  at  the  wind's  behest ; 
But  to  each  angry  cloud 

Thou  bar'st  thy  manly  breast ; 
For  well  Wachusett  knows 

What  hidden  germs  lie  there, 
Beneath  the  mountain  snows 

And  'neath  his  boughs  so  bare. 

What  heeds  Wachusett  now 

The  lightning  or  the  rain  ? 
The  clouds  that  smite  his  brow 

And  gather  o'er  the  plain  ? 
For  well  Wachusett  knows 

A  future  day  shall  bring, 
In  spite  of  wind  and  snows, 

The  blooming  days  of  spring  ! 


ROSALIE. 

T  REMEMBER,  I  remember 

•*-    The  house  adown  the  hill, 
Near  which  in  beauty  flowed  along 

A  sweet,  meandering  rill ; 
And  oft  in  thought  a  pilgrim  go, 

Where  still  the  cot  is  seen, 
With  little  fences  painted  white 

And  shutters  painted  green  ! 


ROSALIE. 

How  oft  when  weary  with  my  walk 

And  resting  'neath  the  shade, 
I've  watched  the  sylph-like  form  of  her — 

My  simple,  rural  maid, 
And  seen  her  gliding  'mong  the  flowers 

With  step  so  light  and  free  ; 
Oh  !  I  was  very  dear  to  her, 

And  she  was  dear  to  me  ! 

I  remember,  I  remember, 

The  rosy-tinted  hours 
We  passed  in  sweetness,  locked  in  twain, 

And  told  our  love  in  flowers. 
No  brighter  spot  was  there  on  earth, 

The  world  we  both  forgot, 
For  there  was  world  enough  for  us 

Within  our  little  cot  ! 

But  joy  like  music  has  a  pause, 

And  so  it  proved  with  me, 
For  when  my  cup  of  bliss  was  full, 

She  died — my  Rosalie  ! 
I  know  she  reached  the  blissful  shores, 

Although  concealed  from  sight, 
For  when  she  passed  their  golden  gates, 

The  stars  increased  their  light ! 

I  remember,  I  remember, 

Through  weary  months  and  years, 
The  love  that  hallowed  all  my  hours 

And  crystallized  in  tears ; 


go  Jtfl7Sf.\'GJ>. 

But  when  on  those  meek  orbs  I  gaze, 
New  founts  of  feeling  start, 

Till  fresh  and  sweet  as  years  gone  by 

That  love  still  warms  my  heart. 
1850. 


MUSINGS. 

'  I  HHE  stars,  how  silent  and  how  swift 

-*•     They  sail  along  the  sky 
And  shed  the  splendor  of  their  rays 

On  every  lifted  eye  ! 
The  little  birds,  how  sweet  they  pour 

Their  strains  upon  the  ear, 
And  in  the  songs  they  warble  forth 

No  jarring  note  we  hear. 

The  brooks,  how  free  and  clear  the  voice 

That  murmurs  as  they  flow, 
Waking  rich  strains  of  melody 

Wherever  they  may  go  ; 
And  see  the  flowers,  the  type  of  all 

The  Beautiful  and  True, 
Hold  up  their  tiny  cups,  and  lo  ! 

The  skies  fill  them  with  dew. 


While  all  around,  in  field  or  grove, 
We  hear  the  voices  sweet, 


MUSINGS.  9  1 


Now  whispering  gently  in  the  air 

Or  gliding  at  our  feet  ; 
In  every  nook,  in  every  vale, 

Doth  melody  arise, 
While  Beauty  sits  queen-like  o'er  all, 

In  earth,  in  air  and  skies. 


Then  why  are  we  so  worn  with  care, 

While  stars  and  fields  and  flowers, 
With  Light  and  Beauty  overflow 

And  fill  the  rosy  hours  ? 
Why  should  the  brook,  that  liquid  smile 

On  nature's  sunny  cheek, 
Be  happier  far  than  you  and  I  ? 

O  brothers  !  let  us  seek. 


All  hail  !  the  light  is  at  the  dawn, 

And  bathes  a  drooping  world, 
Oppression's  rod  is  broken  now, 

And  with  the  tyrant  hurled ; 
And  from  their  dismal  thrones  are  swept 

Old  Discord,  Grief,  and  Sin, 
And  from  the  rents  that  line  their  walls 

The  light  is  streaming:  in  ! 


The  New  Jerusalem  is  near  ! 

Behold  the  Good  and  True, 
With  busy,  hand  now  piling  up 

Each  stone  of  polished  hue  : 


92  LIXES. 

The  pearly  gates  swing  open  wide 
Before  a  waiting  earth, 

The  joys  we  long  have  prophesied 
Are  bursting  into  birth. 


The  altar  fires  are  burning  now, 
•       And  leap  from  hill  to  hill, 
And  nations  waking  by  the  light 

Their  destiny  fulfill. 
All  hail !  the  star  that  leads  us  on, 

Whose  music  round  us  falls 
And  lingers  in  the  Master's  vine 
That  climbs  the  palace  walls  ! 
1849. 


LINES. 

TO   WILLIAM   HENRY   CHANNING. 

OT  spent 

That  inner  light  that  glows 
Within  the  heart,  and  throws 
Its  torch  far  in  the  distant  day, 
And  tinges  with  its  star-lit  ray 
The  Will,  the  Thought  and  Deed 
That  will  the  nations  lead 
To  come. 


LINES. 

For  He 

Who  sends  the  dew  and  rain 
To  drench  each  hill  and  plain, 
And  rears  the  prophet  flowers  to  teach 
The  list'ning  herb  and  grass,  and  preach 
With  fragrant  lips  a  life 
All  free  from  Death  and  Strife, 
Still  lives, 

And  pours 

His  spirit  through  the  rills 
That  Thought  and  Feeling  fills, 
And  breathes  through  Poet's  voice  and  lyre, 
And  glows  within  the  prophet-fire 
That  burns  on  human  hearts, 
And  Light  and  Joy  imparts 
To  all. 


Channing  ! 

A  prophet  thou  of  Him 
Whose  word  now  burns  so  dim 
And  fades  and  glimmers  on  the  soul ; 
Who  hears  the  distant  toll 
Of  discord  and  of  sin, 
Of  wrong  and  error's  din 
On  earth. 


Welcome, 

Thou  prophet,  priest,  and  man  ! 
No  sect  or  party  ban 


93 


94 


WILLIE    TO  HIS  BIRD. 

Can  chain  the  soul  when  once  let  free, 
Or  hush  the  strains  of  melody 

That  gush  from  lips  like  thine, 

Preaching  the  life  divine 

To  come. 

1849. 


WILLIE   TO   HIS   BIRD. 

44  /^OME  back  !  I  miss  thee  from  thy  nest, 
^-^  My  sweet,  my  bonnie  bird  ; 
Come  back  and  nestle  on  my  breast !  " 
These  were  the  words  I  heard, 

As  stood  my  Willie,  with  his  eye 

Bent  toward  a  stalwart  tree, 
Where,  filling  all  the  fragrant  sky, 

It  poured  its  melody. 

"  Come  back,  my  little  bonnie  bird, 
Why  now  from  Willie  stray  ?" 
Was  still  the  pleading  voice  I  heard  ; 
"  Have  I  not,  every  day, 

"  Brought  leaves,  and  food,  and  water  too 
To  fill  thy  little  well  ? 


WILLIE   TO  HIS  BIRD.  95 

And  plucked  thee  berries  when  they  grew 
In  meadow,  wood,  and  dell  ? 


'  And  sat  long  hours  and  chirped  with  thee 

In  answer  to  thy  song  ? 
Why  then  so  high  upon  that  tree 
Wilt  thou  now  stay  so  long  ?" 


All  vainly  there  did  Willie  seek 

His  little  bonnie  bird, 
Till  trickling  tears  stole  down  his  cheek, 

And  quenched  the  words  I  heard. 


But  Willie  since  has  wiser  grown  ; — 

He  keeps  no  cages  now, 
And  loves  far  more,  he'll  fondly  own, 

The  bird  upon  the  bough. 

And  when  the  Spring's  glad  voice  we  hear, 

And  fills  our  joyous  breasts, 
And  birds  with  songs  the  gardens  cheer — 

Begin  to  build  their  nests  ; 


He  loves  to  watch  them  skip  along 

Upon  the  daisied  lawn, 
And  pouring  forth  their  grateful  song 

To  cheer  the  dewy  morn. 


THE   BUTTERCUP. 


Thus  childhood's  grief  some  moment  •.  fills, 
Though  trifles  bid  its  tears  to  start 

And  oft  are  manhood's  pains  and  ills 
But  birds  that  leave  the  heart  ! 


THE   BUTTERCUP. 

f~\  F  all  the  buds  that  bloom  on  earth 
^-^    And  toward  the  clouds  look  up, 
Few  have  more  charms,  or  richer  lore 
Than  thou,  sweet  buttercup. 

How  oft  in  Summer's  sultry  hours, 
When  parched  was  every  leaf, 

I've  seen  this  flower  as  seeming  moist 
As  hearts  that  know  no  grief. 

As  bright  and  golden  with  the  dew, 

Erect  upon  its  stem, 
As  though  the  clouds  had  just  in  showers 

Adorned  it  with  a  gem. 

And  then  beside  that  dusty  way 

I've  mused  on  human  life, 
And  thought  of  those  who  steadfast  stand 

Amid  each  scene  of  strife  ; — 


LOVE  AND   WEDLOCK.  97 

Whose  prophet-hearts,  like  this  loved  flower, 

Disdained  the  tear  and  sigh, 
But  ever  in  whose  fragrant  thoughts 

Revealed  their  hidden  sky. 
1852. 


LOVE   AND   WEDLOCK. 

"  Marriage — the  gate  through  which  the  happy  lover  leaves  his  en 
chanted  regions  and  returns  to  earth." 

OH  !  what  is  Love  ?    The  angel  hand  that  opes  the 
gate 

That  leads  the  soul  to  heaven,  where  each  with  joy  elate 
On  verdant  banks  inhales  the  fresh  and  dewy  morn  ; 
Where    joys  immortal  bloom — in   mortal   hearts  are 

born  ! 

Beneath  the  earth  recedes,  while  heavenly  hills  arise, 
Whose  crimsoned  peaks  that  pierce  the  light,  and  kin 
dling  skies, 

Invite  the  happy  pairs  'neath  bending  branch  and  tree, 
With  voice  of  flute  and  all  their  charms  of  witchery. 
In  converse  sweet  the  golden  hours  speed  on,  as  fleet 
As  summer  trips  o'er  hill  and  vale  on  viewless  feet. 

Wedlock  !     The  gate  through  which  the  soul  returns  to 

earth, 
With  thoughts  of  life  to  which  kind  Heaven  alone  gives 

birth  ; 

Beneath  its  genial  sway  the  lovers'  hearts  expand 
To  loving  care  for  altar,  home,  and  fatherland. 


98  MY  VALENTINE. 

The  eye  retains  its  vision  of  the  passing  hours, 

Our  robes  the  lasting  fragrance  of  the  balmy  flowers  ; 

While  wife  and  meek-eyed  children  gather  peaceful 

round 
Where  pleasant  toil  and  home-born  joys  secure  are 

found.        ,** 

O  Love  !  upon  thy  viewless  wings  I  would  arise, 
Yet  from  thy  blissful  flight  return  to  earthly  skies  ! 
1859. 


MY  VALENTINE. 

T'VE  been  hunting,  I've  been  hunting, 
-*•  With  Cupid  by  my  side  ; 
Not  in  meadow,  not  in  wildwood, 

Not  by  the  flowing  tide. 
I've  been  hunting,  I've  been  hunting, 

Amid  the  sweetest  flowers, 
That  waft  their  beauty  to  the  heart, 

When  love  perfumes  the  hours. 

My  arrow  now  is  on  its  way, 

It  knows  its  mark  right  well  ! 
My  Cupid  too  away  has  fled 

To  bind  or  break  the  spell. 
I  have  no  bow,  no  arrow  left, 

And,  shall  I  tell  you  true  ? 
I  would  my  Cupid  might  return 

And  bring  a  heart  from  you. 
1859. 


THE  GOLD  DIGGERS.  99 


A    SONG. 

THE  heart  that  lives  alone  shall  die, 
Its  narrow  cell  its  scope  ! 
Though  friendly  hearts  may  still  be  nigh 

And  lips  to  whisper  hope. 
Like  some  frail  flower  that  blooms  afar 

Upon  the  burning  sand, 
That  knows  no  dew  nor  passing  shower 
That  falls  to  bless  the  land. 


Then  let  us  live  for  friends  so  dear, 

For  some  fond  heart  and  true, 
And  share  the  blessings  sent  us  here, 

As  blossoms  share  their  dew  ; 
And  let  each  lad  a  lassie  take, 

And  let  each  heart  expand, 
As  now  we  pledge  for  love's  sweet  sake, 

Each  willing  heart  and  hand  ! 
1859. 


THE   GOLD    DIGGERS. 

THE  sun  is  up,  the  crimsoned  hills 
Throw  back  his  golden  beams, 
And  vale  and  dell  drink  in  his  rays  ; 
And  through  the  woods  the  streams, 


100  THE  GOLD  DIGGERS. 

Scarce  waked  from  sleep,  to  all  around 

Reflect  each  cheerful  ray, 
As  now  from  sleep  we  ope  our  eyes 

And  greet  the  new-born  day. 

No  slumbering  eyes  shall  greet  the  skies 

As  from  our  tents  we  go  ; 
With  pick  and  spade  we  seek  the  spot 

Our  trusty  feet  well  know : 
Beneath  the  wave  the  gold  we  see 

The  sand  has  treasured  there, 
And  which  the  earth  in  rocks  and  veins 

Has  long  concealed  with  care. 

Then  speed  the  spade  and  speed  the  wheel ! 

The  dross  we  give  the  tide, 
As  from  above,  by  love's  pure  streams, 

The  heart  is  purified  ; 
And  cheerfully  each  day  we'll  spend, 

For  thus  the  tale  is  told, 
That  every  minute  as  it  flies 

Pours  out  its  grains  of  gold  ! 

Then  speed  the  spade  and  speed  the  tide, 
And  let  the  wheel  go  round  ! 

The  noise  of  toil  and  Nature's  voice 
Have  e'er  a  pleasing  sound  ; 

And  though  the  sea  and  hills  and  plains 
•  Conceal  our  homes  from  view, 

The  gold  we  dig  shall  spread  the  board 
And  buy  the  cottage  too  ! 


TO    WACHUSETT.  1OI 

And  bosoms  pure  as  lilies  are 

The  precious  ore  shall  wear, 
When  art  by  cunning  hand  shall  shape 

The  cross  they  meekly  bear ; 
And  eagles  swift  with  golden  wings 

Shall  fly  across  the  land, 
And  give  to  honest  toil  its  meed, 

And  free  the  toiling  hand. 
1854. 


TO  WACHUSETT. 

THOU  monumental  pile  of  days  gone  by, 
When  not  a  hamlet  stood 
To  grace  primeval  wood, 
Where  naught  was  heard  except  the  battle-cry 
Of  tempest  and  the  breeze, 
Or  voices  from  the  trees, 
Ups welling  their  great  anthem  to  the  sky. 


Long,  long  thou  stood'st  upon  thy  granite  base 

O'erlooking  to  the  sea, 

With  vision  clear  and  free, 
Watching  the  billows  foaming  into  lace, 

Drinking  the  music  deep, 

That  from  his  bosom  leap, 
And  rising,  one  harmonious  sound  embrace. 


102  TO   WACHUSETT. 

The  eagle  came  and  sheltered  on  thy  breast, 

And  found  a  beauteous  home 

O'er  which  to  freely  roam, 
And  from  his  flight  a  safe  retreat  and  rest ; 

And  there  didst  find  his  young, 

Who  to  thy  bosom  clung, 
And  gemmed  with  dew  their  storm-defying  nest 

The  years  unmarked  by  human  footsteps  sped, 
But  thou  in  greatness  stood, 
King  of  the  sky  and  wood, 

Thy  beauteous  life  in  perfect  freedom  led  : 
The  flowers  thy  bosom  sought, 
The  streams  their  tribute  brought, 

And  stars  came  clust'ring  round  thy  head. 

At  length  the  red  man's  trailing  feet  were  heard 

Amid  thy  forests  drear, 

The  home  of  fleeting  deer — 
Thy  pearly  streams  his  swift  canoe  has  stirred, 

As  on  he  sped  his  way, 

In  battle  fierce  array, 
Or  as  he  sought  the  forest's  bounding  herd. 

Thou  too  hast  lived  to  see  the  white  man  come, 

A  weak  and  feeble  band, 

Who  fled  from  error's  land, 
And  sought  by  thee  for  freedom's  hosts  a  home ; 

Hast  seen  the  red  man  fly 

Beyond  the  white  man's  cry, 
In  distant  lands  the  forests  still  to  roam. 


LINES.  103 

And  yet  thou  art  the  same  through  changing 
years — 

'Mid  labor  and  unrest ; 

The  clouds  upon  thy  breast 
Like  children  come  and  tell  their  tale  in  tears. 

In  sweet  tranquillity 

Thou  livest  still  to  see 

The  Age  of  Harmony, 

To  crown  our  many  bleeding  hopes  and  fears. 
1843. 


LINES. 

THOU  lovely  spot,  what  visions  rise, 
And  come  at  thy  behest  ? 
Thou  little  flower  Wachusett  wears 
Upon  his  mountain  breast. 

Each  fragrant  path  that  winds  thy  hills, 

Each  pleasant  grove  I  see  ; 
Each  scented  field  and  pearly  rill, 

Each  well-remembered  tree ; 

My  little  cot  that  nestled  there, 

Behind  its  verdant  screen — 
Its  little  fences  painted  white, 

And  shutters  painted  green  ! 


104  THE  BIRD'S 

The  church  that  on  the  hill  is  set, 
Whose  aisles  my  footsteps  knew ; 

The  lip,  the  heart,  that  strove  to  speak 
The  Beautiful  and  True  ; 

« 

Each  joy  I  nursed  within  my  heart, 
That  like  a  blossom  grew  ; 

Each  tear  that  in  my  weakness  came, 
I  well  remember  too. 


'Twas  there  I  saw  the  Future  dawn, 
The  Past  roll  up  her  scroll, 

Until  thy  name  became  to  me 
The  Patmos  of  my  soul. 

O  lovely  spot !  what  visions  rise, 
And  come  at  thy  behest  ? 

Thou  little  flower  Wachusett  wears 

Upon  his  mountain  breast  ! 
«849. 


THE   BIRD'S   NEST. 

ETURNING  from  the  woods,  I  found 
An  empty  nest,  one  day, 
.^  Which  gently  from  the  ground  I  took, 
And  bore  it  home  away. 


THE  BIRD'S  NEST.  105 

I  thought  of  days  the  merry  birds 

Had  spent  to  build  their  nest : 
And  many  were  the  thoughts  it  brought, 

I  treasured  in  my  breast. 

I  asked  myself,  What  made  their  hearts 

So  very  light  and  gay  ? 
What  made  their  souls  so  full  of  song, 

The  livelong  summer  day  ? 

From  morn  till  night,  while  many  toil 

With  drooping,  downcast  look, 
They  gayly  sing  their  joyous  strain 

Within  their  leafy  nook. 

"How  long,  how  long,  O  Lord  !"  the  sons 

Of  labor  vainly  cry, 
While  joyfully  they  chant  and  swing 
Their  nestlets  in  the  sky. 

Oh  !  wherefore  must  we  toil  and  pine, 

And  make  our  lives  so  drear, 
While  birds  are  happy  all  the  day, 

With  hearts  so  full  of  cheer  ? 

I  thought  if  we  were  like  the  birds, 

Our  world  from  discord  free, 
That  we  might  make  this  life  of  ours 

One  gush  of  melody. 
1851. 


106  BE  PATIENT. 


A   RAINY   NIGHT. 

O  long  as  earth  o'erflows  with  rills, 
And  passing  clouds  descend  in  showers, 
We'll  praise  the  drops  Thy  love  distills, 
For  grateful  man  and  beast  and  flowers. 

Guard  us  our  Father,  guard  to-night 

When  sleep  shall  close  our  weary  eyes  ; 
And  when  we  greet  the  morrow's  light, 

Refreshed  by  slumber  may  we  rise. 
1852. 


BE   PATIENT. 

'  I  "*HE  harvest  days  must  come  at  length — 
-*•     The  harvest  days  of  toil, 
When  willing  hands  and  joyful  hearts 

Shall  reap  the  teeming  soil. 
The  rose  must  have  its  time  to  bud, 

The  spring  its  time  to  bloom, 
Then  for  this  sure  and  trusting  faith 

Our  waiting  hearts,  make  room. 

All  things  to  come  await  their  time — 

The  plant  its  time  to  flower, 
The  grass  to  grow,  the  tree  to  bud, 

The  clouds  their  time  to  shower. 


LINES.  107 


Then  bide  thy  time,  O  man  of  toil ! 

And  e'er  this  lesson  heed  : 
The  harvest  days  shall  come  as  sure 

As  flowers  produce  their  seed. 
1845. 


LINES 

TO   MY   LITTLE   BROTHERS. 

"ITT'HEN  tired  of  books  and  ball, 
^  »      Of  stilts,  jack-stones,  and  all 
That  serve  to  while  away  • 
Your  time  in  cheerful  play, 
Oh  !  then  remember  me  ! 


When  at  your  daily  fare 
And  next  your  father's  chair 
You  find  a  vacant  place 
And  miss  a  brother's  face, 
Oh  !  then  remember  me  ! 

When  softly  on  the  ear 
The  Sabbath  bells  you  hear, 
And  miss  a  brother's  hand 
Among  your  little  band, 

Oh  !  then  remember  me  ! 


1O8  GOOD  NIGHT. 

Amidst  your  childish  glee 
Oh  !  will  ye  think  of  me  ? 
For  if  we  love  at  heart, 
We  need  not  live  apart. 

Oh  !  then  remember  me  ! 
1840. 


GOOD   NIGHT. 

THE  day  is  done,  and  shadows  creep 
Along  the  silent  sky  ; 
While  beauty  decks  her  starry  brow, 
And  kindles  in  her  eye. 

The  village  lights  are  few  and  dim 
That  lit  each  cheerful  home, 

And  from  the  tower  the  chime  proclaims 
The  hour  of  rest  has  come. 

The  stilly  night  is  now  abroad, 

And  not  a  sound  is  heard, 
Except  the  rustling  of  the  leaves 

Her  gentle  breath  hath  stirred. 

The  air,  how  calm  and  peaceful  now  ! 

Nature  has  sunk  to  rest, 
And  e'en  the  clouds  with  folded  wings 

Are  slumbering  on  her  breast. 


BENEATH   THE   CLOUD. 

Good  night — a  sweet  good  night  to  all ! 

A  languor  o'er  me  grows, 
And  silence  broods  o'er  every  scene, 

Inviting  to  repose. 
1852. 


BENEATH   THE   CLOUD. 

'TpHIS  world  has  much  of  sorrow, 
•*•     Each  heart  its  share  of  grief ; 
But  there'll  be  joy  to-morrow, 
The  longest  night  is  brief. 

Oh  !  bless  each  passing  hour, 
Speak  not  of  life  with  scorn, 

For  e'en  the  fairest  flower 
Beneath  a  cloud  is  born. 

We  should  not  be  faint-hearted 
When  trouble  has  its  birth, 

The  sun  when  clouds  are  parted 
With  smiles  bedecks  the  earth. 

To  trial  it  is  given 

To  cleanse  the  soul  from  dross  ; 
How  oft  the  path  to  heaven 

Is  darkened  by  the  cross  ! 
1846. 


109 


1  io  MY  BROTHER. 


ABOVE   THE   CLOUDS. 

LET  sorrows  come  :  adieu  to  fear, 
For  storms  will  have  their  birth, 
And  tears  but  beautify  the  heart 
As  dew  adorns  the  earth. 

Let  clouds  arise  :   is  not  the  rain 

On  mercy's  errand  bent  ? 
And  do  not  storms  soon  pass  away 

When  all  their  clouds  are  spent  ? 

We  can  but  fail :  what  if  we  fail 
And  sink  to  death's  repose  ? 

The  Christian  can  as  sweetly  die 
As  fragrance  leaves  the  rose. 

Then,  pilgrim,  give  the  winds  thy  grief, 
Let  all  thy  fears  be  drowned  ; 

Up  toilsome  hills,  through  lonely  vales, 

The  cross  is  often  found. 
1846. 


MY  BROTHER. 

THE  sod  is  on  thy  breast, 
Where  thou  hast  found  thy  rest, 

And  silent  sleep. 
No  storms  can  reach  thee  now 
No  grief  that  stains  the  brow 

Can  o'er  thee  creep. 


MY  BROTHER.  Ill 

Thy  soul,  now  freed  from  clay, 
Has  winged  its  flight  away 

Beyond  our  sight, 
Where  angels  wave  the  palm, 
Where  thought  itself  is  balm, 

And  all  is  bright. 

For  so  it  seems  to  me, 
The  soul's  great  ministry 

All  doubt  has  hurled  ; 
The  dewdrops  only  die, 
To  bend  their  bow  on  high 

With  gems  impearled. 

And  then  again  to  earth, 
Where  sorrow  has  its  birth, 

In  gentle  showers 
They  all  descend  to  bless, 
In  sweetest  tenderness, 

The  dewy  flowers. 

E'en  so  to  us  oh  !  come 
From  thy  sweet  starry  home 

On  wings  of  light ; 
For  sorrows  o'er  the  soul 
Like  billows  o'er  us  roll 

And  dim  our  sight. 

'  We  can  not  make  thee  dead,' 
Though  violets  deck  the  bed 

Where  thou  art  lain  ; 


112  THE  SEARCH. 


1848. 


O  spirit  of  the  flowers  ! 
Who  meekly  bend  in  showers 

And  bless  the  rain, 
Come  to  these  hearts  of  ours 

And  soothe  our  pain. 


THE    SEARCH. 

'HpHERE  is  a  little  flower, 
•*•     That  all  the  maidens  know, 

Who  tread  this  tangled  bower, 
Where  all  its  tendrils  orcflfr. 


Now  in  its  search  we  start, 
And  tread  this  shady  walk  ; 

Ah  !  each  will  lose  his  heart, 
Who  with  these  maidens  talk  ! 

Here  children  in  their  play, 

In  gleeful  spirits  meet, 
And  spend  the  live-long  day, 

Its  blossoms  at  their  feet. 

Here  robins  chirp  and  sing, 
And  from  their  branches  start ; 

While  fairy  voices  fling 

Enchantment  round  the  heart. 


ART  AND  TOIL.  \\-l 

i 

A  branch  I  seek  for  you, 

To  bind  around  your  brow  ; 
Lo  here  it  graceful  grew — 

Upsprings  to  greet  us  now  ! 

For  it  you  ask  a  name. 

Ah  !  then  my  story's  told ; 
The  heart  you  can  not  blame, 

That  can  a  secret  hold  ! 
1859. 


ART   AND    TOIL. 

TTOW  beautiful  the  earth,  how  fair  the  skies 

•*•  •*•    Where  loved  by  gods  Olympian  mountains  rise ! 

Then  Vulcan  forged  and  Neptune  led  his  train, 

Minerva  taught  and  shrined  each  hill  and  plain  ; 

Agricola  'mid  cultured  slopes  and  fields 

Inhaled  the  odors  that  the  harvest  yields  ; 

Apollo,  too,  would  join  the  pleasing  throng, 

And  cheer  the  moments  with  his  harp  and  song ; 

Then  Art  was  loved  and  every  marbled  shrine 

Proclaimed  that  Toil  was  noble  and  divine. 

Methought  this  voice  I  heard  when  on  the  bay 

I  gazed  upon  the  ships  that  peaceful  lay, 

And  heard  the  voices  of  the  splashing  wheel 

And  parting  waters  'neath  the  shining  keel : 

And  on  the  wharves  and  streets  whose  buildings  rise, 

The  loaded  garners  of  the  world's  supplies, 


114  ART  AND    TOIL. 

And  thought  how  honest  Toil  and  manly  Art 

Should  now  in  holy  bonds  unite  the  heart ; 

United  who  shall  tell  their  mighty  deeds  ? 

Bold  Vulcan  thou  and  Neptune  with  thy  steeds  ? 

What  one  performs  the  other  joys  to  tell, 

Like  voice  and  echo  in  the  leafy  dell : 

When  one,  they  sweetly  blend  like  heat  and  light, 

And  joyous  visions  rise  before  our  sight. 


See  dark-browed  Egypt  with  her  sweeping  Nile, 

Her  costly  monuments,  the  stately  pile 

Where  Memnon  sweetly  greets  the  rising  day, 

With  music  kindled  by  its  opening  ray  ; 

Where  lofty  Sphinxes  mutely  gaze  and  stand 

Half  buried  'neath  the  desert's  shifting  sand  : 

See  Venice  too,  once  mistress  of  the  sea, 

The  princely  cargo  of  each  argosy  ; 

See  Rome  and  Greece,  the  honored  home  of  Art, 

How  dear  their  walks  to  every  pilgrim  heart ! 

Where  grace  and  learning  to  perfection  grew, 

And  philosophy  shed  its  healing  dew ; 

Where  Plato  taught  and  Socrates  abode, 

In  humble  robes  to  highest  glory  rode. 

To  Art  and  Toil  did  all  their  homage  pay, 

That  built  their  shrines  and  paved  the  Appian  Way. 


Now  cast  your  eyes  to  meadow,  bush,  and  tree, 
In  humble  fields  Agricola'we  see, 
And  gardens  rich  with  perfume  scent  the  air, 
And  ripening  fruits  the  budding  branches  bear. 


ART  AND   TOIL.  115 

In  marbled  paths  the  lovely  maidens  walked, 
And  'neath  the  friendly  shade  in  quiet  talked. 
There  bloomed  the  lily  and  the  Syrian  rose, 
The  clustered  grapes  that  red-faced  Bacchus  grows  ; 
The  waving  corn  through  which  the  Master  walked, 
The  lilies  fair  of  which  he  sweetly  talked. 
Their  beauty  and  their  grace  his  discourse  made 
Fairer  than  marble  art  or  templed  shade. 

Let  years  pass  by  with  all  their  mighty  deeds  ; 

The  ages  past  with  all  their  struggling  needs, 

Behold  Columbus  trims  his  winged  sail, 

And  ocean  kindly  yields  an  opening  trail, 

Through  which  in  triumph  now  he  swiftly  glides, 

And  on  the  viewless  track  to  glory  rides. 

The  friendly  birds  from  landward  take  their  flight, 

In  graceful  curves  they  move  before  his  sight, 

And  now  they  hover  o'er  the  virgin  soil, 

The  final  triumph  of  his  patient  toil. 

The  cross  he  rears  beneath  the  bending  sky, 

And  Roman  eagles  to  our  standard  fly. 

What   though   from  templed  shrines   the  gods   have 

flown  ? 

And  altars  crumble  to  the  gods  unknown  ? 
The  Christian  spire  invites  the  pilgrim's  eye, 
And  points  in  beauty  to  his  homeward  sky. 

See  now  Columbia  in  her  pomp  and  pride, 
The  princess  of  the  nations  and  their  bride  ! 
Her  ships  now  whiten  every  bay  and  sea, 
And  'neath  her  flag  behold  the  noble  free. 


I  l6  ART  AND    TOIL. 

Here  Art  and  Toil  their  work  begin  anew, 
With  better  promise  than  the  ancients  knew. 
No  chivalry  that  once  the  past  did  own, 
E'er  bore  its  standard  to  the  icy  zone 
Where  Kane  his  taper  lit  with  match  and  steel, 
Where  circling  zones  no  more  their  motion  feel. 
No  bounding  steed  that  e'er  Arabia  knew, 
So  sure  and  swift  o'er  hill  and  valley  flew, 
As  now  our  winged  words  by  lightning  go 
In  messages  of  love  both  to  and  fro: 
While  all  proclaim  beneath  these  western  skies, 
Here  Art  and  Toil  in  nobler  forms  shall  rise  ; 
With  none  to  fear,  the  future  all  to  hope, 
The  boundless  universe  their  ample  scope. 
Thus  linked  in  twain,  my  country  who  shall  trace 
The  dawning  future  of  our  onward  race  ? 
Earth  buds  anew,  new  flowers  upspring  to  sight, 
Orion  brightens  'neath  the  kindling  light ; 
And  Lyra's  harp  that  sparkles  o'er  the  land, 
New  music  wakes  among  the  starry  band  ; 
New  stars  now  come  and  kindle  in  the  sight, 
And  nations  move  beneath  th'  increasing  light. 

Within  the  heart  upon  its  virgin  soil 
Now  build  a  shrine  for  noble  Art  and  Toil ; 
There  nurse  the  arts  that  grace  the  teerhing  earth, 
And  manly  toil  that  gave  the  arts  their  birth  ; 
The  pen  exalt  and  with  the  soldier's  blade 
Unite  the  plow,  the  anchor,  and  the  spade. 
1858. 


THE   INNER   LIFE.  1  \J 


THE   INNER  LIFE. 

'TpHE  outward  world  that  round  us  lies 
•*•     Is  not  the  world  in  which  we  dwell ; 
The  inner  world  alone  is  real — 
The  world  we  neither  buy  nor  sell. 
I'm  master  of  all  outward  things, 
Within  my  soul  I  take  my  seat, 
And  Nature  comes  in  perfumed  robes 
And  lays  her  treasures  at  my  feet. 
All  things  I  have  within  myself, 
Suns  set  and  suns  within  me  rise  ; 
I  live  within  bright  palace  walls 
Arched  o'er  by  lovely  jeweled  skies. 
I  come  and  go,  a  wandering  bee 
That  roams  each  flowery  scented  field, 
And  treasure  up  the  golden  fruit 
My  daily  thoughts  and  pastimes  yield. 

I  look  at  things  not  as  they  seem, 
In  all  I  see  the  Father's  face  : 
All  nature  is  a  part  of  Him, 
The  bending  sky  is  his  embrace  ; 
His  breath  embalms  the  dewy  flowers, 
He  makes  the  sun  his  triumph  car  ; 
His  voice  I  hear  in  every  breeze, 
His  smile  I  see  in  every  star. 
He  builds  his  altar  everywhere, 
On  every  heart  his  dews  distill, 
His  heaven  is  with  the  pure  in  heart, 
Its  temple -gates  the  human  will. 


1 1 8  HYMN. 

I  love  to  turn  from  beaten  paths 
Where  trade  and  politics  deceive, 
And  fondly  roam  each  wood  and  glen, 
And  feel  my  breast  with  rapture  heave. 
The  world  wants  not  that  which  I  have, 
But  still  I  love  the  inner  life, 
And  naught  can  tempt  my  heart  away 
To  mingle  with  its  scenes  of  strife  ; 
For  deep  within  I  have  a  mine 
More  rich  than  gold  that  veins  the  earth, 
And  deep  within  are  loving  thoughts 
That  give  to  joy  and  trust  their  birth. 
That  inner  world,  oh  !  be  it  mine, 
And  mine  to  tread  each  sacred  hall, 
To  enter  in  its  silent  courts 
And  know  the  perfect  Soul  of  All. 
1842. 


HYMN. 

HOW  good  is  God  !  I  see  his  loving  smile 
In  every  drop  of  morning  dew  ; 
And  though  he  crowns  each  day  with  gifts, 
His  gifts  are  still  forever  new. 

The  sun  shines  clear  as  first  it  rose 

From  dreamy  chaos  into  birth  ; 
The  rainbow  is  as  beautiful 

As  first  it  spanned  the  waiting  earth. 


TEMPERANCE  HYMN. 

What  shall  await  our  future  days, 

He  now  withholds  from  our  weak  sight ; 

•The  book  of  fate1  is  kindly  closed, 

His  ways,  though  dark,  are  always  right. 

The  sweetest  hours  by  far  in  life 
Are  those  that  lie  between  each  pain, 

Like  sunbeams  streaming  from  the  sky 
Between  two  drops  of  falling  rain. 

Oh  !  then,  away  with  all  distrust ! 

God's  gifts  are  always  fresh  and  new. 
The  hand  that  led  us  through  the  past 

Will  lead  us  all  our  journey  through. 
1851. 


119 


TEMPERANCE  HYMN. 
TUNE — A  merica. 

NOW,  children,  let  us  all 
On  God  our  Father  call, 
His  blessing  seek  ; 
The  ocean  in  his  hand, 
Rivers  a  smiling  band, 
And  rills  that  gem  the  land, 
His  goodness  speak. 


120  BAPTISMAL 


1855. 


While  time  shall  onward  roll, 
We'll  join  with  heart  and  soul, 

And  water  praise  ;* 
We  love  the  dripping  well, 
Our  lips  its  joys  shall  swell, 
Its  peaceful  triumphs  tell 

In  tuneful  lays. 

Health  here  its  temples  rears, 
Pleasure  the  moments  cheers, 

And  warms  our  hearts  ; 
Each  eye  with  hope  is  bright, 
The  future  lends  its  light, 
Religion  cheers  the  sight 

Its  wealth  imparts. 

Again  we  raise  our  voice, 
In  one  glad  strain  rejoice, 

The  earth  shall  sweep  ! 
United  now  we  stand, 
A  true  and  happy  band, 
Resolved  to  free  our  land, 

Our  pledge  to  keep. 


BAPTISMAL  HYMN. 

OEE  the  happy  angels, 
^  Sweetly  robed  they  stand, 
Looking  down  in  fondness, 
On  this  youthful  band. 


SUNDAY-SCHOOL  HYMN.  121 

See  the  dew-drops  falling 

On  each  sinless  brow, 
Parents  softly  lisping 

Their  baptismal  vow. 

Lord,  each  child  we  offer, 

Pure  without  a  stain  ; 
Each  loved  child  then  naming, 

Falls  the  holy  rain. 

See  their  angels  list'ning, 

Lay  their  harps  away ; 
Round  thy  throne  now  kneeling, 

Silently  we  pray. 

Keep  their  hearts  now  guileless, 

Free  from  sin  and  strife  ; 
Write  their  names  in  heaven, 

In  the  Book  of  Life. 
1858. 


SUNDAY-SCHOOL   HYMN. 
TUNE  —  All  the  week   we  spend. 

NOW  the  Sabbath  day 
Calls  us  to  our  school, 
There  to  sing  and  pray, 

The  sight  how  beautiful ! 
And  it  is  a  faithful  rule 
Never  to  be  late  at  school ! 


1 22  HYMNS. 


»8S5- 


Now  my  books  I  take, 

'Tis  my  constant  care, 
Ne'er  the  rule  to  break ; 

Faithfully  prepare 
All  the  lessons  of  my  school ; 
Blest  are  we  who  keep  the  rule  ! 

Now  in  school  are  we, 

All  our  teachers  too  ; 
Pleased  are  we  to  see 

Such  kind  friends  and  true  ; 
And  it  is  our  constant  rule 
To  be  still  in  Sunday-school ! 

Now  in  prayer  we  rise, 
Our  humble  tributes  bring, 

Trav'ling  to  the  skies, 
Let  us  pray  and  sing ; 

When  we  all  obey  each  rule, 

Sweet,  how  sweet  the  Sunday-school ! 


HYMNS. 

Written  for  and  sung  at  the  funeral  of  Rev.  William  H.   Kinsley, 
September  gth,  1851. 

I. 

TT7ITH  folded  arms  and  solemn  tread, 

These  temple-gates,  O  God  !  we  press, 
For  one  who  has  this  people  led, 
Has  left  his  flock  now  shepherdless. 


HYMXS.  123 

From  dust  we  came,  to  dust  we  go, 
The  body  frail  in  which  we  dwell ; 

But  for  the  soul  we  never  toll 

In  measured  stroke  the  village  bell. 

The  path  is  dark  to  mortal  sight 
That  guides  the  spirit  on  its  way, 

But  who  can  see  the  vapors  rise 

That  viewless  pierce  the  molten  ray  ? 

All  space  is  thine,  all  time  to  thee 
In  true  and  sweet  obedience  roll ; 

Then  unto  thee,  in  whom  is  lost 

All  space  and  time,  we  leave  the  soul. 

We  walk  by  faith  and  not  by  sight, 
Thy  boundless  love  is  all  our  stay, 

In  that  we  trust — the  more  we  trust, 
The  darker  seems  our  pilgrim  way. 


n. 


Oh  !  who  can  tell  what  glories  now 
Attend  our  brother  on  his  way, 

Or  how  embalming  on  his  brow 
The  winged  hours  now  pass  away  ? 

For  little  know  the  roots  that  lie 
Beneath  the  sod  so  chill  and  bare, 

Of  all  the  sweets  that  fill  the  sky, 

The  rip'ning  fruit  their  branches  bear. 


HYMN. 

But  leaves  are  real,  and  life  is  more  ; 

The  leaf,  the  fruit,  exist  for  all ! 
And  Faith  is  echo  from  the  shore, 

When  on  that  Land  our  spirits  call. 

And  as  the  winds  that  kiss  the  flowers 
Unto  their  roots  their  thoughts  impart ; 

So  every  thought  that  fills  their  bowers 
Has  here  an  echo  in  the  heart. 


HYMN. 

!  not  alone,  when,  like  a  bird 
Of  dark  and  brooding  wing, 
Or  like  an  Autumn's  faded  flower 
That's  ceased  its  blossoming, 

Would  I,  O  Father  !  think  of  Thee, 

And  all  Thy  works  review, 
The  wisdom  and  the  love  divine 

That  make  Thy  gifts  so  new. 

I'd  think  of  Thee,  when  joy's  pure  spring 

In  countless  streamlets  start, 
And  while  my  hopes  are  flowering 

And  ripen  on  my  heart. 


HYMN.  125 

For  Thou  art  Good,  the  Central  Life, 

The  Soul  of  all  we  see — 
The  Sun,  the  Germ,  the  Infinite  ; 

Whom  should  we  serve  but  Thee  ? 

The  Universe  is  but  Thy  Thought, 

That  runs  through  every  age, 
All  Science  must  begin  with  Thee, 

The  Saint  alone  is  Sage. 

Thou  art  the  Fount,  Thy  Laws  the  rills 
Through  which  Thy  blessings  flow  ; 

And  they  alone  who  do  Thy  will, 
Thy  benediction  know. 

Who  then  shall  have  their  thirst  assuaged, 

And  be  from  bondage  free  ? 
O  Father  !  may  we  know  in  truth, 

The  Pure  in  Heart  see  Thee. 
1850. 


HYMN. 

S~\  THOU  Most  High,  who  canst  uplift 
^^   Each  heart  to  Thee  above, 
Anoint  our  souls  with  sacred  fire, 
Our  lips  with  holy  love. 


126  HYMN. 

Our  Father,  ever  hallowed  name, 
In  thought,  in  will  and  deed, 

On  whom  we  lean,  nor  fear  our  stay, 
If  Thy  commands  we  heed. 


Thy  kingdom  come  in  all  the  earth, 
To  all  our  waiting  eyes  ; 

If  we  Thy  will  will  always  do 
'Twill  come  in  sweet  surprise. 


Give  us  each  day  our  daily  bread 

Our  bodies  to  renew, 
And  for  our  souls  that  to  thee  look 

Pour  out  Thy  blessing  too. 

Forgive  the  wrongs  that  we  have  done 

Reveal  again  Thy  face, 
As  other's  wrongs  must  we  forgive 

And  lose  in  Thy  embrace. 
4844. 


HYMN. 

THOU,  the  Life,  the  Light,  the  Truth, 
Whose  law  is  writ  in  love, 
Thy  kingdom  come,  Thy  will  be  done, 
On  earth  as  'tis  above. 


HAPPY  NEW  YEAR.  \2J 

Thy  kingdom  come  !     Oh  !  come  in  thought 

To  these  poor  hearts  of  ours, 
Till  all  is  fair  and  sweet  within 

As  cells  within  the  flowers. 

Thy  kingdom  come  !     Oh  !  come  in  will 

That  purposes  the  life  ; 
The  truth  to  seek,  the  good  to  win, 

Where  now  are  sin  and  strife. 

Thy  kingdom  come  !     Oh  !  come  in  deed. 

And  banish  all  our  woes  ; 
Until  within  each  heart  shall  thrive 

The  lily  and  the  rose. 
1846. 


HAPPY   NEW  YEAR. 

V  •  ^IS  midnight  now.     The  city's  streets,  how  still  ! 

-*•     The  moon's  pale  light  is  glimmering  o'er  the  hill, 
And  walks  in  beauty  in  the  path  it  knows, 
And  all  is  wrapt  in  lovely,  sweet  repose, 
Except  the  lonely  watcher  of  the  room 
Whose  cheerful  taper  lights  the  friendly  gloom  ; 
Or  those  who  like  their  Master  lingering  stay 
On  Olivet,  the  holy  mount,  to  pray. 
The  stars'  sweet  rays  now  cheer  the  drooping  heart, 
As  one  by  one  the  dwellers'  lights  depart, 
And  seem  like  beacon-fires  that  meekly  glow, 
To  watch  the  peaceful  world  that  sleeps  below. 


128  HAPPY  NEW  YEAR. 

The  clock  strikes  twelve — the  Old  Year  now  is  dead  ! 

Its  sands  are  gone,  its  waning  days  have  fled. 

All  silent  as  the  evening  ray  it  went, 

And  like  an  arrow  when  its  force  was  spent. 

Old  Time  the  record  takes  and  seals  each  page, 

To  hand  it  down  from  coming  age  to  age. 


St.  Mary's  dial  see,  the  hands  discern  ; 
They  pass  the  figures,  and  can  ne'er  return  ! 
The  book  is  closed,  the  story  now  is  told, 
And  e'en  an  angel's  hand  with  pen  of  gold 
The  vain  and  foolish  task  would  soon  resign, 
A  word  to  change,  or  e'en  a  shadowy  line. 
The  book  is  sealed,  and  on  each  fadeless  leaf 
Is  traced  each  joy,  each  passing  sin  and  grief; 
By  our  own  lives  the  written  words  we  state, 
As  images  upon  the  burnished  plate, 
Which,  placed  beneath  the  searching,  burning  rays, 
In  truth  the  living  likeness  there  displays. 
And  all  is  there  ;  no  thought  has  pierced  the  sky 
But  passed  beneath  the  Father's  watchful  eye  ; 
Each  tempting  thought  that  sent  the  arrows  deep 
Within  the  inmost  soul,  He  bade  to  sleep  ; 
Each  sin  He  witnessed,  and  each  sorrowing  hour  ; 
Naught   hides   from   Him,  or  thwarts   His  sovereign 
power. 

The  tale  is  told,  the  morning  stars  appear  ; 
Regrets  are  vain,  and  vain  each  falling  tear. 
Now  by  the  Past  the  Future  let  us  scan, 
And  build  our  hopes  upon  a  better  plan. 


HAPPY  NEW   YEAR. 


129 


If  through  the  year  our  minds  aspired  above, 

Still  let  us  keep  the  path  of  life  and  love  ; 

If  some  loved  friend  with  whom  we  walked  in  twain- 

Has  left  our  side,  let  not  a  heart  complain. 

In  peace  now  part,  God  speed  him  on  his  way  ! 

'Tis  ours  the  hill  to  climb  while  yet  'tis  day. 

If  some  sweet  friend  whose  hand  was  clasped  in  ours, 

Whose  words  like  flowers  embalmed  the  passing  hours, 

Now  sleeps  in  death — is  lost  for  aye  from  sight ; 

So  Christ  passed  on  and  left  an  arch  of  light  ! 

If  art  and  toil  unite  the  sea  and  land, 

The  Future,  too,  awaits  our  moulding  hand  ; 

And  though  the  Past  in  sorrow  we  have  trod, 

Hope  rears  her  column  on  the  dewy  sod. 


That  Future  beams  upon  the  prophet's  eye. 

Behold  its  signs  upon  the  dawning  sky  ! 

The  weary  world  awaits  the  coming  sage 

Whose  living  words  shall  rouse  the  slumbering  age  : 

The  poet's  words  new  harmonies  to  trace 

And  breathe  in  rhythmic  cadence  to  the  race  ; 

The  painter,  too,  whose  pictured  thoughts  shall  glow 

With  all  the  loveliness  the  heart  may  know  ; 

The  sculptor's  hand,  from  stone  so  hard  and  real 

In  marble  forms  to  shape  the  soul's  ideal 

Of  love  and  grace  ;  the  statesman,  too,  to  find 

Of  noble  thought  and  world-expansive  mind  ; 

The  prophet's  voice,  whose  living  truths  shall  burn 

Into  all  hearts,  all  idol  thoughts  o'erturn, 

And  by  the  mystic  ties  of  truth  and  love, 

Unite  all  hearts  on  earth  to  heaven  above. 


IjO  HAPPY  MEW  YEAR. 

The  Present  now  is  ours,  and  quickly  flies, 
No  time  have  we  for  useless  tears  and  sighs  ; 
For  hours  speed  on,  the  changing  seasons  meet, 
And  pour  their  ripening  treasures  at  our  feet. 
The  fields  that  drink  the  falling  dew  and  rain, 
Invite  the  seedsmen  and  the  golden  grain  ; 
The  ships  that  spread  their  sails  for  every  land 
At  anchor  wait  the  willing  feet  and  hand  ; 
The  merchant's  office  and  the  artist's  room, 
The  workman's  shop,  the  busy  press  and  loom, 
The  mines  whose  liquid  veins  once  ran  with  gold, 
And  knowledge,  too,  of  use  and  wealth  untold — 
Invite  the  toiling  millions  of  the  earth 
To  purer  joys  than  e'er  the  past  gave  birth. 


The  morning  dawns  :  Athwart  the  eastern  sky 

A  few  faint  streaks,  like  golden  arrows,  fly. 

The  angel  Sleep  that  brooded  o'er  the  earth, 

That  closed  the  flowers  and  gave  to  dreams  their  birth, 

Now  plumes  her  misty  wings  and  soars  away  ; 

The  rising  sun  assumes  his  royal  sway. 

Mildly  at  first  he  sways  his  royal  power 

And  wakes  to  life  the  birdling  and  the  flower  ; 

Wisely  he  tempers  both  the  heat  and  light, 

And  thus  unvails  his  splendors  to  the  sight. 

Unnumbered  voices  greet  the  coming  day. 

Ring  out,  ye  bells  !     In  rhythmic  accents  say, 

A  happy  year  to  all  !     Ring  out  the  chime 

And  spread  the  joy  from  distant  clime  to  clime  ! 

Ring  out,  ye  bells  !    from  graceful  spire  and  tower, 

And  link  your  sweetness  with  the  present  hour  ! 


HAPPY  NEW  YEAR.  13! 

This  day,  supreme,  let  joy  and  gladness  reign, 

From  hill  to  vale  and  distant  plain  to  plain. 

To  festive  rites  in  friendship's  holy  name, 

Now  yields  each  heart  that  feels  the  mystic  flame. 

Within  our  homes  see  woman  reigns  to-day  ; 

In  crystal  shrines  the  infant  pleasures  play  ; 

And  dull  must  be  our  sight  if  we  deny 

Their  happy  home  within  her  love-lit  eye  ! 

Lo,  at  her  glance  our  wintry  thoughts  take  flight, 

And  summer  comes  to  make  the  hours  more  bright. 

Like  spring,  her  voice  new  powers  awake  to  birth, 

And  new-born  joys  upspring  to  cheer  the  earth  ! 


The  rites  begin — behold  the  passing  line  ! 
Fill  up  the  cup,  but  not  with  maddening  wine, 
Though  woman  sips,  and  with  her  jeweled  hand 
Extends  the  liquid  from  the  vine-clad  land. 
Within  the  sparkling  beads  the  demons  lie, 
And  death  upon  the  rising  perfumes  fly. 
Now  fill  the  cup  that  holds  the  wine  of  life, 
Whose  clustered  grapes  contain  no  seeds  of  strife  ; 
Which  warms  the-lieart  with  joys  that  can  not  cloy, 
And  lights  our  path  with  thoughts  of  coming  joy. 


A  happy  year  to  all !     To  you,  my  friend  ! 
If  o'er  the  poet's  page  you  friendly  bend. 
I  know  you  not,  and  yet  one  God  have  we  ; 
One  Christ,  to  set  our  willing  spirits  free  ; 
One  country,  too,  the  land  we  love  so  well, 
In  whose  defense  our  fathers  nobly  fell ; 


IJ2  HAPPY  NEW  YEAR. 

One  State  we  own,  the  Golden  State  we  love  ; 

Eureka,  floats  upon  her  flag  above  ! 

One  blood  have  we  that  courses  through  our  veins  ; 

One  path  that  leads  us  to  the  heavenly  plains  ; 

Our  joys  and  sorrows  one  ;  one  hope  to  share, 

One  heaven  to  win,  one  cross  to  meekly  bear. 

O  brother  mine  !  though  o'er  thy  sunny  France 

Where  waving  vineyards  in  the  sunbeams  dance, 

Or  Luther's  land,  of  noble  deeds  the  home, 

Italia's  vales — the  honored  seat  of  Rome, 

Or  other  lands  of  ruder  vales  and  skies, 

Or  England's  shores,  thy  herald  star  did  rise  ; 

Yet  here,  upon  these  shores,  we  meet  as  one, 

And  all  one  common  purpose  bravely  own. 

That  purpose,  here,  a  noble  State  to  rear, 

Whose  mighty  deeds  shall  all  the  nations  cheer. 

That  theme  is  mine,  the  future  times  to  trace, 

To  watch  the  star  of  empire  in  the  race 

Of  nations  to  the  ever  distant  West, 

Whose  fabled  land  inspires  the  poet's  breast ! 

Lo  !  o'er  our  heads  the  star  that  led  the  way, 

Now  stops  as  erst  where  Judah's  shepherds  lay, 

And  marks  the  spot  to  which  the  nations  tend, 

And  round  whose  homes  the  prophet's  visions  blend  ! 

Thus,  while  with  mirth  the  New- Year's  birth  we  greet, 

And  joyous  friends  around  the  board  may.  meet, 

With  fancy's  wings  the  future  we  will  roam, 

And  joyful  speak  of  Country,  God,  and  Home  ! 


The  stars  that  sparkle  in  the  azure  night 

Run  o'er  with  love  and  share  their  crystal  light ; 


HAPPY  NEW  YEAR.  133 

i 

The  flowers  that  bloom  so  meekly  and  so  fair, 

Their  sweetness  blend  and  now  their  dew-drops  share  j 

E'en  so,  our  hearts  with  love  to  all  run  o'er, 

To  friends  though  near  or  on  a  distant  shore. 

A  happy-  year  to  all  !     To  you,  my  child  ! 

With  heart  so  meek  and  eyes  so  sweetly  mild ; 

Whose  soul  now  twinkling  through  your  melting  eyes, 

Reflects  the  beauty  of  its  native  skies. 

And  happy  maiden  !  you,  whose  heart  keeps  time 

With  angel's  footsteps  and  the  poet's  rhyme  ; 

The  tendrils  of  whose  heart  in  beauty  twine 

Around  some  kindred  heart  that's  worthy  thine. 

And  parent,  too  !  who  strives  through  want  or  wealth, 

By  humble  deeds  to  aid  the  commonwealth. 

A  pattern  man,  a  woman  nobly  born, 

Who  love  the  truth  and  mere  appearance  scorn  ; 

Whose  household  is  their  reahn  ;  their  throne,  their  rule  ; 

Their  home  of  pure  and  truthful  deeds — a  school. 

And,  honest  miner,  too,  in  search  for  gold, 

Thy  cheerful  heart  a  mine  of  wealth  untold  ! 


A  happy  year  to  ALL  !     Ring  out  the  chime, 
And  spread  the  joy  from  distant  clime  to  clime  ! 
Ring  out,  ye  bells  !  from  graceful  spire  and  tower, 
And  link  your  sweetness  with  the  present  hour! 
SAN  FRANCISCO,  CAL.,  1858. 


134  THE   BACHELOR. 


THE   BACHELOR. 

\     GENTLE  maid  I  met  one  day, 
•*•*•  With  heart  so  meek  and  eye  so  mild, 
That  in  her  path  I  loved  to  stray, 
While  others  looked  and  archly  smiled. 

Around  her  brow  there  shone  a  flame 
That  made  her  like  an  angel  seem, 

And  when  she  spoke,  sweet  music  came 
And  floated  by  as  in  a  dream. 

In  Eden's  bowers  there  bloomed  no  rose, 
No  pink  so  sweet,  no  lily  rare, 

That  could  in  truth  compare  with  those 
That  blossomed  on  her  bosom  fair. 

That  happy  hour  a  star  appeared, 
And  held  me  in  a  pleasing  trance  ; 

And  all  my  life  its  rays  have  cheered, 
And  kindle  still  beneath  my  glance. 

How  oft  since  then  my  eyes  have  wept, 
And  griefs  been  moulded  into  tears  : 

How  many  joys  my  heart  have  swept, 
And  hopes  been  mingled  with  my  fears. 

And  though  I  knew  'twas  but  a  dream, 
From  which  my  soul  awaked  one  day  ; 

That  star  of  clear  and  steady  beam 
Still  shines  upon  my  pilgrim  way. 


IMPROMPTU.  1  3  5 

And  as  it  falls  upon  my  heart 

As  first  in  youth  its  rays  I  knew, 
New  germs  of  thought  in  beauty  start, 

Though  I,  in  vain,  its  light  pursue  ! 

«8S9- 


IMPROMPTU— TO   MY   WIFE. 

T    ONG  years  have  passed  since  last  I  looked 
-• — '  Upon  those  sweet  and  tender  eyes, 
That  in  my  youth  beguiled  my  heart 
And  made  more  fair  the  love-lit  skies. 

But  time  and  change  no  changes  bring 
To  this  fond  heart  that  beats  for  thee  ; 

For  still  of  love  my  lips  shall  sing — 
Of  sweetest  love  and  constancy. 

I'll  sing  of  thee :   it  was  thy  face 
That  taught  my  youthful  heart  to  love  ; 

And  e'en  the  bud  that  drinks  the  rain 
Returns  it  to  its  home  above. 

Our  youthful  spring  !     The  air  how  sweet  ! 

And  filled  with  music  like  the  lute  ; 
I  gave  thee  then  the  opening  bud, 

I  give  thee  now  the  ripening  fruit. 


136  MY  WALK. 

No  land  again  with  mountains  high, 
No  crested  waves  that  lash  the  sea, 

Shall  bring  again  the  rising  sigh, 
Or  separate  thy  form  from  me. 

For  we  are  one,  as  light  and  heat 
Unite  to  form  the  shining  ray, 

And  linked  in  twain  their  journey  take 
From  opening  morn  to  closing  day  : 

And  as  the  light  each  morn  returns 
To  gild  more  fair  the  new-born  day, 

From  star  to  star,  from  mount  to  vale, 
Thine  eye  beholds  the  self-same  ray. 

So  God  hath  bound  us  heart  to  heart, 
Henceforth  our  paths  together  run  ; 

No  earthly  power  our  souls  can  part, 
And  Heaven  will  not,  that  made  us  one. 


MY  WALK. 

ONE  day  in  pensive  mood  I  walked 
Beneath  the  willow  shade, 
And  with  the  silent  shadows  talked 

That  with  the  waters  played  ; 
I  mused  on  youth  so  quickly  sped, 

Of  leaves  that  bloomed  to  die, 
Of  wintry  days  by  summer  led, 
Of  joys  that  hurried  by. 


MY  WALK.  137 

O  sweet  surprise  !  what  see  I  now  ? 

A  form  of  angel  mien, 
A  wreath  of  lilies  decks  her  brow 

Entwined  with  fadeless  green. 
•  The  smile  upon  her  face  disarms 

My  anxious  thought  and  fears  ; 
While  I,  enchanted  by  her  charms, 

Forget  my  falling  tears. 

What  is  thy  name  ?     Fair  spirit,  tell, 

Come,  clasp  thy  hand  in  mine  ; 
Where  is  thy  home  ?   Where  dost  thou  dwell  ? 

Where  is  thy  earthly  shrine  ? 
Oh  !  tell  me  whence  those  rubies  rare, 

That  gem,  that  cross  of  flame, 
That  sparkles  on  thy  bosom  fair  ? 

Pray  tell  me,  then,  thy  name  ! 

She,  answering,  speaks,  with  lips  so  true 

And  voice  so  sweet  and  mild  ; 
Upon  my  heart  it  falls  like  dew, 

She  claims  me  as  her  child  ! 
No  fears  can  now  my  heart  intrude, 

No  grief  its  peace  inflame  ; 
A  friend  is  she  in  solitude, 

Religion  is  her  name. 
1859. 


138  OUR  DEPARTED  HERO. 


OUR   DEPARTED    HERO. 

"IT  THAT  grief  is  this  that  rides  on  every  gale, 

*  *      Uprising  from  the  people's  mangled  heart  ? 
The  ocean's  moans  the  passing  deed  bewail, 

The  mountain  eagles  from  their  caverns  start ; 
And  rivers  wide  that  sweep  the  mourning  land, 

The  hills  and  plains  that  echoed  to  his  tread  ; 
The  mountains  high,  that  rise  a  monarch  band, 

All  mourn  a  hero  lost,  a  leader  dead. 

©  stricken  land  !  our  grief  is  yours  indeed  ; 
For  you  we  weep,  for  you  our  hearts  shall  bleed. 
'Tis  well  ye  mourn,  my  brothers  young  and  brave  ; 
His  cause  was  yours,  for  you  his  life  he  gave. 
'Tis  well  the  voice  of  joy  has  ceased,  while  now 
We  twine  the  fadeless  chaplet  for  his  brow. 
Yes,  mourn,  thou  stricken  land  he  loved  so  well — 
His  deeds  recite,  his  manly  virtues  tell. 
For  he  has  gone,  the  bravest  of  us  all, 
True  at  his  post  and  prompt  at  duty's  call. 
His  soul  was  nobly  formed  to  mount — to  soar 
Where'er  his  country's  cause  her  banner  bore. 
Yes,  mourn,  let  toil  forget  its  task  awhile, 
And  childhood's  cheeks  refuse  its  wonted  smile  ; 
Within  our  homes  no  words  of  mirth  pass  round, 
The  timbered  hills  forget  the  axe-man's  sound, 
The  merchant  cease  to  count  his  usual  gains, 
The  traveler  lone  upon  the  distant  plains  ; 
All  cease  from  toil  and  lay  your  tasks  away, 
And  to  our  hero  dead  our  tribute  pay. 


OUR   DEPARTED  HERO..  139 

He  died,  this  brave,  unconquered  son  of  ours. 
Come,  strew  his  bier  with  amaranthine  flowers  ; 
The  friendly  earth  that  once  his  body  gave, 
Ope  now  thy  bosom  for  a  peaceful  grave. 
Come,  brothers  all,  our  grievous  loss  bemoan, 
And  in  the  nation's  ear  our  sorrows  own. 
Bemoan  that  death  the  soldier's  hand  has  chilled, 
His  manly  heart  in  dreary  silence  stilled  ; 
And  that  his  voice,  so  trumpet-toned  and  clear, 
His  eagle  heart  that  never  stooped  to  fear, 
No  more  shall  tell  from  whence  the  kindling  flame 
That  warmed  his  soul,  endeared  to  all  his  name. 


His  body  now  we  give  its  mother  earth, 

His  soul  to  God,  because  of  heavenly  birth. 

Pass  on,  loved  spirit,  o'er  these  clouds  arise, 

And  greet  the  glory  of  the  morning  skies  ; 

While  now  before  thy  corpse  so  pale  and  chill, 

With  tearful  eyes  we  stand  and  linger  still. 

But  not  too  long — his  spirit  leads  the  fight, 

And  southward  still  our  eagles  take  their  flight. 

No  time  to  waste,  while  now  our  country  bleeds, 

'Tis  now  the  time  for  thought  and  manly  deeds  ; 

And  while  the  war-clouds  break  upon  the  land, 

And  one  by  one  they  fall — brave  freedom's  band  ; 

By  all  the  blood  rebellion  costs  the  slain, 

For  every  drop  that  stains  the  crimsoned  plain, 

A  thousand  men  upspring  before  our  sight, 

And  millions  more  respond,  "  GOD  SPEED  THE  RIGHT  !" 

1861. 


NIGHT. 


NIGHT. 

SWEET  twilight  hour  has  come — the  time,  how  sweet ! 
The  dewy  night  and  waning  day  now  meet 
And  wander  o'er  the  hills.     The  drooping  flowers 
Fold  up  their  leaves  and  bless  these  witching  hours. 
The  stars  resume  their  sway,  for  lo,  they  come  ! 
The  scene  how  calm  !     Naught  but  the  insect's  hum 
And  gurgling  voices  from  the  neighboring  rill 
Now  break  upon  the  air.     The  night,  how  still  ! 

Come,  Fanny,  by  my  side,  but  speak  not  now. 
Come,  lay  thy  hand  in  mine,  while  on  thy  brow 
These  starlit  rays  now  rest,  a  halo  bright, 
That  flames  around  thy  form — a  heavenly  light. 
With  awe  now  gaze  upon  the  starlit  sky, 
As  for  its  sweet  repose  we  inly  sigh. 

See  yonder  fields,  where  late  the  cattle  trod, 
No  feet  now  wander  o'er  the  upturned  sod  ; 
In  yonder  meadow  rests  the  new-mown  hay  ;       , 
Hushed  is  the  flail  and  hushed  the  robin's  lay. 
No  weary  cattle  seek  this  evening  hour, 
No  roaming  bee  now  seeks  the  opening  flower  ; 
The  cattle  on  the  thousand  hills  repose — 
The  roaming  bee  its  friendly  covert  knows. 

All  nature  speaks  that  night  was  made  for  rest. 
The  day  is  closed  that  all  the  hours  had  blest — 
That  touched  the  hills  when  all  the  flowers  awoke, 
That  bathed  the  vales  till  all  their  voices  spoke, 


NIGHT.  141 

When  from  her  nest  the  morning  lark  did  soar, 
And  light  sprang  forth  from  out  its  viewless  shore. 
Now  night,  with  dewy  footsteps,  round  us  creeps, 
While  labor  rests,  and  like  a  giant  sleeps. 

Our  thoughts,  how  busy  now  !     Oh  !  bless  the  Hand 
That  arched  the  sky  and  built  yon  starry  land  ; 
That  lit  the  stars  and  traced  the  milky  way  ; 
That  strung  the  harp  the  mystic  moonbeams  play  ; 
That  built  the  dome  above  this  rolling  earth, 
And  gave  each  soul  its  mysterious  birth. 

Thy  prayer  now  breathe,  ere  sleep  shall  close  thy  eyes  ; 
Angels  are  near  to  bear  it  to  the  skies. 

O  Father  !  bless  the  child  who  bows  to  thee. 
From  every  sin  now  set  my  bosom  free  ; 
Each  evil  thought  now  banish  from  thy  sight ; 
Ope  wide  thy  gates,  conduct  me  by  thy  light. 
Oh  !  bless  thy  children  scattered  far  and  wide, 
Those  on  the  land  and  on  the  rolling  tide  ; 
Remember  those  whose  early  choice  is  made, 
And  those  still  longing  for  the  healing  shade, 
Where  cooling  waters  quench  the  thirsting  soul. 
And  peace  and  plenty  on  their  bosom  roll. 

Remember  those  who  long  and  weary  roam, 
Seeking  the  path  that  guides  the  pilgrim  home  ; 
And  those  long  crushed  by  tyranny  and  care, 
Who  seek  in  gloomy  cells  the  gates  of  prayer ; 


142  THE   CHILD'S   WAKING  HYMN. 

And  as  the  night  doth  waft  its  healing  dew, 
Send  comfort  now,  and  sweet  deliverance  too  ; 
And  while  by  day  I  walk  as  in  thy  sight, 
Grant  me  in  peace  to  bid  the  world  "  good  night !" 

This  prayer  she  breathed  ere  slumber  closed  her  eyes  ; 
An  angel  near  then  bore  it  to  the  skies. 

1860. 


THE    CHILD'S    WAKING   HYMN. 

[From  the   French  of  Lamartine.] 

MY  Father  kind,  whom  we  adore, 
On  bended  knees  we  lisp  thy  name  ; 
Thy  gifts  my  mother's  heart  inflame, 
On  whom  thy  blessings  I  implore. 

They  tell  me  that  the  sun  so  bright 
Is  but  thy  play  of  light  and  heat ; 
Self-poised  it  swings  beneath  thy  feet, 

A  lamp  of  soft  vermilion  light. 

The  little  birds  of  summer  fields 
To  thee  alone  do  owe  their  birth  ; 
And  all  the  children  of  the  earth 

Thou  gav'st  a  soul  that  knowledge  yields. 


THE   CHILDS    WAKING  HYMN. 

They  tell  me  that  the  flowers  rare 
Are  but  the  product  of  thy  hand  ; 
And  but  for  thee,  throughout  the  land 

The  orchard  trees  no  fruits  would  bear. 


The  universe,  thy  banquet-hall, 

Is  by  thy  glory  fitted  up  ; 

And  e'en  the  insect  there  may  sup, 
It  is  thy  bounty  feedeth  all. 

The  lambkin  feeds  on  upland  ledge, 

The  skipping  goat  the  wild  grass  crops  ; 
The  little  fly  sips  the  white  drops 

That  hang  upon  the  vase's  edge. 

The  skylark  leaves  its  sunny  nest 
And  seeks  the  gleaner  by  the  brook  ; 
The  sparrows  to  the  winnower  look, 

And  childhood  seeks  its  mother's  breast. 


And  to  obtain  each  sacred  gift 

That  day  by  day  doth  bring  to  light 
The  morning  hour,  the  evening — night, 

To  thee  our  waiting  hearts  we  lift. 

O  God  !  my  stammering  lips  set  free, 
To  lisp  thy  uame  that  angels  fear  ; 
But  e'en  a  little  child  may  hear 

And  join  the  choir  that  praises  thee. 


H3 


144  RESURGAAf. 

Ah  !   can  He  know  so  far  away 

The  secret  thoughts  that  move  my  heart ; 
Then  that  his  grace  He  may  impart 

To  me,  to  Him  I'll  daily  pray. 

My  God,  who  giv'st  the  fountain  rain, 
And  feathers  to  the  sparrow's  breast ; 
Who  giv'st  the  sheep  their  wool,  and  blest 

With  shade  the  roses  of  the  plain, 

Restore  the  sick  to  health,  we  pray  ; 

Give  bread  to  those  who  weary  roam  ; 

Unto  each  orphan  give  a  home, 
And  to  the  captive — freedom's  day. 

1861. 


RESURGAM. 

I    SHALL    RISE    AGAIN. 

THIS  word  we  trace  where'er  we  bend  our  eye, 
In  silent  groves,  in  yonder  sunset  sky  ; 
In  garden  walks  where  once  the  lilies  slept, 
Bathed  in  the  dew-drops  that  the  evening  wept. 

The  leafless  tree  that  lifts  its  arms  in  prayer, 
The  naked  rose-bush,  once  the  gardener's  care, 
Shall  hear  the  voice  when  spring  shall  come  again, 
With  melting  sunlight  and  the  genial  rain. 


RESURGAM. 


H5 


The  setting  sun  that  bathed  the  earth  with  light, 
And  scattered  far  and  wide  the  gloom  of  night, 
This  word  repeats,  as  with  departing  ray 
He  leaves  the  scene  and  shuts  the  gates  of  day. 

v 

The  stars  that  lingered  till  the  openirfg  dawn, 
And  graced  the  beauty  of  the  dew-eyed  morn, 
This  word  repeat,  as  fading  from  the  sky 
They  lonely  set  before  the  watcher's  eye. 

Beside  the  open  tomb,  the  grave  new  made, 
Where  mourners  kneel  beneath  the  willow  shade, 
An  angel  stands,  and  to  the  passing  train 
Proclaims  these  words  :  "  They  rise — all  rise  again  !" 

As  spring  succeeds  the  wintry  days  and  snows, 
As  from  the  budding  stem  the  blossom  grows, 
So  near  is  heaven — so  near  the  landscape  lies, 
Though  hidden  now  beneath  these  earthly  skies. 
1861. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


RECEIVEI 

I 

„  ,  ,ys    'Mi   1QQR 


' 


CIRC.  DEPT.  URL 


Form  L9-100m-9,'52(A3105)444 


3  1158008846635 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A  A      000033423    5 


